


"Are you there, Jonny? It's me, Patrick."

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Major Character Injury, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 71,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>April 10th, 2014</i>
</p><p>  <i>It’s the last game before the playoffs and they’re up 4-2 against the Kings. The roar of the game is coursing through his blood along with his adrenaline. He screams with happiness when Jonny scores again, shooting him a beaming smile. Jonny grins shyly at him and skates off, chasing the puck. But his back is turned at the worst moment possible. Doughty slams his stick on the ice and charges after Toews like he has a target on his back. Patrick slams his gloves on the gate and screams out Jonny’s name.</i></p><p>When the Blackhawks suffer the worst loss the NHL has ever seen, how will they be able to go on when they couldn't even save their Captain?</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Are you there, Jonny? It's me, Patrick."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very long story, be warned. I started this last playoffs, which is why it's set at the end of the 2014 season. I'm sorry for any timeline or hockey protocol inaccuracies. I'm playing with my own little universe. I suggest grabbing a few tissues if you are easily saddened by most anything before you start this rollercoaster.
> 
> Trigger warnings: suicide, alcoholism, & mentions of miscarriages

It’s the last game before the playoffs and they’re up 4-2 against the Kings. The roar of the game is coursing through his blood along with his adrenaline. He screams with happiness when Jonny scores again, shooting him a beaming smile. Jonny grins shyly at him and skates off, chasing the puck. But his back is turned at the worst moment possible. Doughty slams his stick on the ice and charges after Toews like he has a target on his back. Patrick slams his gloves on the gate and screams out Jonny’s name.

He can almost feel the hit that Jonny takes, and he definitely watches it happen in slow motion. Jonathan is racing toward the puck, head down, and is about a foot away from the boards when Doughty throws a hard shoulder into his back. It sends him flying first into the glass, two feet off the ground, then second onto the ice. Patrick can hear the smacks, even across the rink.

His head cracks back and forth like a rag doll both times and Patrick involuntarily whispers his name again when Jonny drops to the ice.

And then Jonny doesn't move. He’s facedown on the ice, limbs splayed awkwardly underneath him.

The whistle blows and the crowd is silent. It’s an away game but the stands are filled with black and red. Patrick’s ears start ringing as he launches himself over the gate behind Coach Q. The medical team hurries out of their gate and shove them out of the way. Q stands over their shoulders with one hand scrubbing nervously over his mustache. All Patrick can do is stand by and watch as they cut Jonny’s helmet off and bring a stretcher out. Once they start trying to move him, a small groan is heard.

Patrick’s stomach nearly drops out of his body as Jonathan’s eyes flutter open. They spin around trying to get bearings of his surroundings and, finally, find Pat’s eyes.

“Hey,” one of the physicians says, “hey, Jonathan, stay with us. Do you know where you are?”

“Staples… Center…” Jonny breathes, chest moving slow and steady. They check his pupil responses, pulse, and breathing. “What… happened?”

“Just took a bad check. The refs are already grabbing Doughty,” Q says, bending down next to Jonny. “How do you feel, kid?”

“Putain…” Jonathan swears in French, under his breath. “Ça fait… mal. Hurts… but… I’m fine.”

Q puts his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and whispers, “There’s only three minutes left in this game and we’re up by three. I wasn’t going to put you in anyway. Make sure Tazer lets the medics check him out. You know how stubborn he is.”

Nodding, his head, still in shock, Patrick mutters, “Yeah, sure Coach.”

The guys help Jonny up, where he puts an arm around Patrick’s neck amidst the deafening cheers of the fans. “Come on, Tazer, let’s get you patched up,” he whispers, arm tightening around Jonathan’s waist.

“Thanks… Peekaboo… I owe… you one…” Jonny mumbles, breath hot against his neck. It’s enough to make Patrick’s eyes flutter and his heart race faster than the adrenaline was already making it go. He wraps a hand around Jonny’s forehead and presses his cheek against the hot and sweaty forehead.

Jonny just has a mild concussion but nothing too serious. No lower body injuries, nothing that will keep him out of more than four games. They have 3 or so days before the playoffs start, so he’ll have time to rest and be ready to go for at least the second series. But that means Patrick is on Toews watch tonight. Which also means he’s not allowed to check out the bar downstairs, instead sitting in their hotel room watching some boring rom-com while Jonny takes his second ice bath of the night in the bathroom.

“You almost done icing your dick in there?!” he calls out, hoping his voice echoes across the hotel room.

“Shut up…” a small voice answers, soft and very unlike Jonathan’s. It still has the twinge of pain that never really left off the ice. And, because they’ve spent enough time with each other to know how they think, before Patrick can even open his mouth, Jonny says, “And yes… I’m fine…”

“If you say so,” Patrick says, scooting down on the bed. Halfway through the movie, the bathroom light finally clicks off and Jonathan comes out slowly, dressed only in his underwear and still dripping wet. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, watching Toews crawl on the bed and curl up next to Patrick’s body.

“I said… Je suis… très bien…” Jonny says, words muffled in Patrick’s t-shirt. Pat can feel the other man’s heart beat against his skin. It was slow and deliberate, just like Jonny. Jonny never did anything without playing out the scenario in his head. Patrick had seen him do it whenever he got the puck. Jonathan would skate, mind racing as he saw plays before they even happened.

“You know I can still barely understand anything you say in French. Even if it’s for ‘practice.’ Do you want to get some sleep? It’s been two hours already. Medics said as long as you were up and awake before, you can get some sleep tonight,” Patrick rambles, absentmindedly tracing the strong curve of Jonathan’s hip.

“Yeah… probably should…” Jonny mumbles, allowing him to pull the covers over both of them. “Plus… you’ve got… practice tomorrow…”

“Won’t be the same without you, Cap.” He places his lips to Jonny’s forehead and smiles. “Get some sleep, okay? You need it after tonight.” Patrick scoots down as Jonathan reaches over to turn the table lamp off, wincing when he gets close to the light. He puts an arm around his boyfriend’s head when Jonny rubs his temple, curling up close to Patrick. There’s a little part of him that wants to ask Jonny again if he’s okay, but Patrick knows that would only just get him more annoyed looks, so he lets it go and just pulls him tighter.

“Je t'aime, Patrick.”

“Je t'aime trop.”

Jonny’s eyes slip shut and, before Pat knows it, is softly snoring next to him. Tomorrow he has to remember to muss the sheets of the other bed so none of their teammates get suspicious. They’re still waiting for a good time to tell anyone that they’re together. Maybe tomorrow, Pat thinks. Maybe.

~

Pat’s eyes flutter open as he pulls the sheets further up his body. He turns to the clock. It reads 2:24am. “Jesus, Jonny, your feet are freezing.” The room is oddly quiet; the snoring has stopped. Patrick tugs his shirt free and rolls back over to face his partner. “Jonny?” He shakes his shoulder. Jonny doesn’t move. “Come on, Tazer, wake up!”

Patrick’s push and pull is strong enough that, on his last shake, Jonathan rolls from his side onto his back. His lips are blue and his eyes are half lidded, bloodshot and rolled into his head.

The low guttural scream that comes out of his throat is the horrid mix of calling for help and Jonny’s name. Patrick shakes him over and over, screaming his name.

He flies out the bed, mind racing, and nearly trips out into the hallway. He screams for help over and over, throwing his body against each of the doors he knows his teammates are in. Patrick doesn’t know what he’s going to do if one of them doesn’t open up soon.

He bangs hard with both his fists until he feels the bones and the skin give way. It takes about thirty seconds, but finally the room to Sharp and Versteeg’s room opens up and Kris sticks his head out. “Kaner, what the fuck?” he asks groggily.

Patrick is halfway down the hall in front of Duncan and Brent’s room when he hears him. The first sounds that come out of his mouth are dead, retching sounds. “Jonny…” he says, stumbling towards Kris. “Jonny is…” He knows his face is white as a sheet and can feel the tears in his eyes. But he can’t bring himself to actually say it.

“Tazer’s what?” Kris asks looking at Patrick intently. But it only takes a second to realize. “Oh god.” He runs back into the room shouting, “Sharpy! Get up!” and hurrying back into to Patrick’s room with him. He flips on the lights and holds onto the wall before saying, “No, he can’t…”

Sharp wanders into the room and immediately understands. He sprints out and Patrick can hear the slamming of doors and Sharp’s voice waking everyone up. Marian comes flying in and shoves both Kris and Pat out of the way and checking Jonathan. Patrick can’t feel anything when Hossa shakes his head and sits back on the bed, saying, “He’s been… He’s been gone… I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do.”

Their room is now filled with all his teammates and team doctors. Nobody is talking and nobody is making noise. Only one singular voice is heard as Q makes his way through. All Patrick can do is stare at Jonathan’s body as Coach Q puts his hand on Pat’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go out into the hallway.”

“I just got off the phone with 9-1-1. They said someone will be here in about 15 minutes,” Sharpy says, voice quiet, as he comes out of his room. Q just nods, leading Patrick out of the room and into the hallway.

Patrick finally slides down the wall and buries his face in his knees. His body is racked with sobs and he can feel his nails dig into the palms of his fingers. Jonny can’t be dead. He can’t be. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to watch them practice Friday and cheer them on during the playoffs. And now Jonny was in their hotel room, gone, and he was sitting out in the hallway with broken hands.

Q kneels down in front of him, puts a hand on his head and just sighs. Patrick lets himself cry for five more minutes, only five, and lifts his head to wipe his nose on his sleeve. He knows his nose and eyes and everything else are red but he’s stopped caring. “What happened, kid?” Q asks, voice quiet. It’s almost like he’s talking to Patrick like a skittish dog or small child. Pat can feel his hands start to shake and his breathing get heavier. “Come on Kaner, you need to talk to me. Did Jonny-“

Patrick can feel something snap inside his brain and all he can see is red. The first punch lands on Q as pain shoots through his hands and up into his body. But he can’t stop hitting his Coach. “You were supposed to take care of him! He should’ve gone to the hospital! You left him with me and he’s _dead_ now!” Patrick screams, voice echoing in the hallway before he’s lifted off by Saad, who just drops to the floor with him in a tight embrace.

“Shhh… I know, I know,” Saad says, arms clenched tight around Pat. He looks up and sees Q’s face smudged with the blood from his already split knuckles. His coach takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and begins scrubbing it off.

The sea of hockey players parts as the paramedics wheel a stretcher with a black bag down the hall. Sharp comes out of the hotel room holding Jonny’s phone. “What’s the password? I’m going to call his parents. They need to know.”

Wiping his eyes again, Patrick says with trembling lips, “It’s 1988.”

He can see everyone’s faces drop when he says it. Sharp meets his eyes and Patrick sees a wall go up instantly. Sharpy’s eyes go blank for a second and a laugh twitches in his throat. It’s almost like something in his brain snapped. Sharpy nods and mumbles, “Yeah, okay.” He wanders down the hall, putting the phone up to his ear.

Patrick just stares at the floor until he hears Duncan’s voice say, “Coach, they need you in here.” Q gets up, wipes the last bit of Patrick’s blood from his face, sticks his handkerchief in his pocket, and heads in with a grim expression.

Sharp comes back from down the hall, face somber. “Andrée picked up after the third time calling. They’re going to fly in at noon. To help with… everything…” He pauses, staring at the faces and realizes he can’t pick out one. “Where’s Crow?”

Hossa peeks out from behind Keith and says, “He took a muscle relaxer after the game. Didn’t even wake up when you and Kaner were getting everybody. But I’ll go and tell.” All eyes are on him as he opens his hotel room door and walks in quietly.

He’s in there for three minutes, Patrick counts, before leading a bewildered Corey out to the hall. Crow’s tired, confused expression on his face feels like a punch to the gut. “No,” Corey mumbles, eyes watering. “This isn’t fucking funny.” He rips his body out of Hossa’s brotherly touch and shoves him in the chest. “You’re lying.” When Corey realizes that nobody’s laughing, he sinks down to the floor, back against the wall, his head falling to his hands.

Finally, the paramedics wheel Jonathan out of the hotel room and down the hall. Everybody bows their heads in silence as their Captain heads out in front of them for the first time since he was given the honor.

Q follows shortly behind them. He looks at all his boys, taking in their hopelessly confused faces. He opens his mouth at first but just sighs, as lost as the rest of them. “Paramedics said Jonny died of a bleed in his brain. Medics cleared him off ice but his symptoms set in hard and fast two or three hours ago, by the looks of it. They said there wasn’t much we could’ve done. Now, we’re going to have to have a press conference in the morning, so I’ll set some stuff up and make the calls. We’ll postpone the games for as long as we can. Team meeting is 9am. I expect you all to be there. That gives you six hours to do what you need to.” And, with that, he heads back into his room, leaving everyone just standing in silence.

Saad finally lets go of Patrick and helps him off the ground. Pat’s shoulders are hunched, eyes down, face scrunched tight. His injured hands are tucked tightly into his stomach, underneath his shirt. He’s trying to make himself as small as possible. Patrick Kane has been a lot of things: a lover, a fighter, a superstar, a hockey player that was larger than life. But all he wanted to do now was disappear.

Minutes pass before anyone says anything. And the first is Sharp, standing at the head of the group, saying, “Okay kids, no more loitering in the halls; get back to class.”

Everyone is so stunned that they don’t even call Sharpy an asshole, nor say that this is the wrong place, wrong time. Instead, they just file into their respective rooms leaving Sharp, Patrick, and Saad left in the hall.

“Kaner, do you want to room with me, or…” Brandon asks quietly. “I just… don’t have a roommate since Shawzy…”

Patrick just stands there, numb, until Sharp wraps an arm around his shoulders and says, “Come on mullet boys, you guys can room with us. We’ll have a slumber party and braid each other’s hair. We gotta call Shawzy anyway.” They follow him to room 805 and wait for Sharpy to finish fiddling with the key. Kris isn’t in the room, but the bathroom light is on with the door closed. “Steeger, I brought Saad and Peeks back. They’re staying with us.”

A moment of silence, then a throaty, “Fuck… okay. Give me a minute…”

“You guys okay with sharing a bed? Steegs won’t admit it, but he’s a secret spooner. Little spoon of course,” Sharp says, cocky grin on his face. Patrick just slumps on the bed, eyes tearing up again. Sharp’s smile falters a little, but forcibly remains there.

Kris finally comes out, eyes bloodshot and nose red. He sits down on the bed across from Patrick and nudges his leg a little with his foot. Patrick looks up and just stares blankly as Kris gives him a heartbroken look. Jonny was Kris’s captain too, twice actually, but he had missed a lot in those 2 years. He had missed the highs and lows and everything in between and can’t just jump back in like nothing had changed. And he knows that.

Sharp flops back on the bed next to Kris and whips out his phone. “Does anyone else want to call Shawzy or am I going to have to do this? Saad? You want to?” Saad shakes his head, head down, and Sharp rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll do it. You guys are lucky I have unlimited minutes.”

Patrick winces at the dial tone as Sharpy puts it on speakerphone. It rings for about 2 minutes before a tired female voice answers, “Hello?”

“Chaunette? Why do you have Shawzy’s phone? You need to put him on. This is important.”

“He’s asleep. And I was too before you guys called. Call back later this morning when we’re both awa-“

Sharp’s voice suddenly gets harsh. “Chaunette, I don’t have time for this. Put. Shaw. On. This is important. Something bad happened,” he says insistently.

Chaunette doesn’t say anything, just lets out a small, pained noise, knowing immediately from Sharpy's tone that this wasn't good news. Her voice is far away as she murmurs, “Andrew, Andrew, wake up! Wake up baby! It’s Sharpy.”

Shaw’s voice is pissed off and exhausted as he barks out, “Sharpy what the fuck? I’m fucking sleeping. It’s three in the goddamn morning. What the hell do you want?” The hotel room is absolutely silent, just waiting to see what will happen next.

“Shawzy… Jonny's dead.”

Patrick puts his head between his knees as the silence hits. They can all hear Shaw’s breathing as it starts to get heavy. “No,” Shaw says, “he can’t be dead. He’s not, he’s not! I just talked to him after the game. Jonny’s not fucking dead.” Shaw’s voice is thick and heavy and they can hear Chaunette’s quiet sobs in the background. “Sharpy, I don’t believe you.”

Sharp rubs the back of his neck and says, “I wish I wasn’t serious. But… He’s gone… Took that hit from Doughty and his brain bled out in the night. We’ll be back in Chicago later today.”

“Fuck.” And then Shaw hangs up. The silence continues and Patrick’s not sure how long he’s going to last in the dead noise that weaves around every person in the room. He’s so used to voices and laughter and smiles and cheers, not everybody refusing to talk about what happened.

“Well then, I think we should call it a night,” Sharpy says, plugging both his and Jonny’s phone in to the wall. “Everybody snuggle up, I’m hitting the lights.” He goes over and puts a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Come on, Kaner, lay down.”

Patrick numbly lets Sharp push him down on the bed and cover him up with the blanket. He’s reminded so much of Jonathan that the moment he’s down, his shoulders start to shake. Sharp bends down and presses their foreheads together. “Peeks, I know this is hard. But we’re going to get through this. I promise you that.”

All Patrick can do is close his eyes and lay in the darkness.

And of course that’s all he can do. He knows Sharp is fast asleep, his snoring echoes in the quiet room. But he can feel Saad toss and turn on the bed next to him. Every 2 minutes, he rolls from his right side to the left, and back to the right. It’s a very synchronized dance that stresses Patrick out enough that the first movement he’s made all night was clenching the sheets under his chin.

~

He watches the clock rise from 3:30am to 8:00am until Sharp’s phone starts playing some stupid Pearl Jam song. Sharp jerks up and turns his alarm off. Sitting up, he looks over at Pat and asks, “Have you been awake the whole time?” The small nod from Patrick is the only answer he gets. “Come on, let’s get you in the shower.” Patrick lets Sharp move him like a doll off the bed and into the bathroom. Sharpy gently undresses him and helps him into the shower.

If this was any other time, he would have made some joke about “Does Abby know what you’re doing?” but he’s too tired for this. He stands in the shower blankly as the water gets turned on, blasting him in the face. Sharpy closes the curtain and goes about getting everyone up and ready, and leaves him to his own devices. He can’t do anything and just stands there until the water turns cold.

Shivering to the point of chattering teeth, Patrick feels his legs start to shake. Kris finally whips open the bathroom door and yells, “Kaner!”

He and Sharp pull Patrick out of the shower and wrap him in a towel. Pat stares at the floor and shivers as they dry and dress him again. “Come on, guys,” Sharpy says. “Q’s going to be wondering were we are.”

The four of them wander down the hall to the conference room, Saad leading Patrick gently, and open the door to find almost the entire team sitting in a circle of chairs. They pick two empty chairs as Sharp and Versteeg sit a couple down, next to Oduya and Hjalmarsson. “Everybody here?” asks Sharp.

Coach Q’s face is worn and tight as he says, “Everybody but Seabrook and Keith. They better get here soon or we have to start without them.”

And, just as he finishes, the doors open for the final time and Keith walks in, followed by Seabs. Everybody whips their heads around to see the taller man’s shaved head. Everyone’s eyes go wide in shock; Brent was one of the more attached people to his hair. And now it was gone.

Seabs grabs a one of the empty chairs and loudly drags it across the floor to the other single empty one. He glares at Leddy, who quickly scoots his over to make space for him. He slams his body into the chair, slides it six inches outside the circle, and crosses his arms, waiting for Duncan to sit next to him.

Duncan does as he should and says, “Sorry we were late, Coach.”

Q nods at them and then leans forward. “Okay team, I’ve made all the calls and here’s what we’re going to do. There’s going to be a 3 week league-wide hiatus while everybody takes some time off. I’ve talked to Andrée and Bryan, they’re going to have a funeral early next week. Probably Monday or Tuesday. I know three or four days isn’t a lot of time, but I expect all of you to show up. They’ve asked Kaner, Seabs, Bickell, and Keith to be casket bearers. If you decline, I can find someone to replace you.”

Sharp raises his hand. “Coach, I don’t think Peeks is in the best of shape. Can we get someone else?”

Corey raises his hand. “I’ll do it. Patrick doesn’t need to be carrying Jonny like that.” Everybody nods in agreement, almost avoiding looking at Pat.

Looking at the rest of them, Q asks, “Anyone else want out?”

Duncan looks at Brent who just stares back at him icily. “Seabsy’ll do it. We’ll both do it.” He shares a look with his friend and just nods.

“Now, to continue. I have a press conference scheduled at 4pm today in Chicago. So I want everybody packed within the next hour, because the plane leaves at 11:00. You miss the plane and you have to find your own way home.” Q’s voice is stern and commanding, but everyone knows it’s his only way to keep control. “Does anyone else have any questions?”

Most of them look at each other carefully. Then Hjalmarsson takes a deep breath and says what everyone is thinking but nobody has the guts to mention, “Coach? What about… a captain?”

Then Q just looks at the floor and mutters, mustache bristling, “We’ll have to… You know what, we’re not going to talk about this right now. We’ll talk about all of this after the funeral. Now go get packing.” He stands up and is out of the room before anyone can notice he started walking away.

They all sit there awkwardly until Sharpy finally splits a smile and chirps, “Nice hack job there, Biscuit. Who came in and shaved you in your sleep?”

The loud * _THWACK_ * echoes in the hollow conference room as Seabrook launches himself at Sharp, laying a hard hit to the side of Sharp’s jaw. Sharp shoves him off and Duncan picks Brent up like a child and tosses him halfway across the room. “The _fuck_ , Seabs?” Sharpy shouts, holding his face.

Seabrook is starting to scramble to his feet and go after Sharp again, but Duncan grabs him by the collar and slams him to the wall. He presses his forehead to Brent’s and just gives him a furious look. Seabs breathes heavily, hands clenching, and then just lets go. He closes his eyes and lets himself be helped over by Duncan. Although everyone is staring at him, he doesn’t meet a single person’s gaze as he storms out of the room, slamming the door on his way out.

“What’s his problem?” Oduya asks, lip curling slightly. “You okay Sharpy?”

“Hey, don’t fucking mess with Seabs, okay!” Duncan shouts, knuckles white. “He’s going through a bunch of shit right now!”

Niklas stands up, crossing his arms and raising an annoyed eyebrow. “Don’t you think we all are? Jonny was our friend too. But you don’t see any of us going around punching anyone." Everyone murmurs in agreement. “He doesn’t get to do anything he wants. That’s just being selfish of him,” he says, voice splitting with bitterness.

Keith gets up close and personal with Hjalmarsson, inches away from his face. “I had to bust through the door after Brent locked himself in. He was just sitting in the window. He was just sitting on the edge, just looking at the 70 foot drop below him. I had to pull him off or he was going over, and I spent the next two hours trying to keep him from breaking anything possible, including himself. Jonny was his fucking rookie, don’t you _get_ it? They fucking lived together and Brent was his mentor. Jonny went to him for everything. And now he’s fucking dead,” he spits, venom dripping from his mouth and chin. “I helped him shave his head because that gave him something to have control over. Some release he could have without hurting himself.”

Hjalmarsson swallows with a bit of difficulty and says, “I’m sorry… Duncs, I didn’t think-“

“Yeah, you _didn’t_ think,” Duncan say sharply. “I’m going to go make sure _my_ friend is okay.” He stalks off, jaw clenched.

“Jesus Christ, this is a mess,” Sharpy says, wiggling his jaw. “We’re a mess.”

“We’ll get through it, though,” Oduya says. “We should probably get going. I don’t want to see Q any madder than he already is. Kom igen, Nik.” He waves a hand to his friend and two defensemen head out, heads bent together, murmuring with each other in Swedish.

Saad gets up too and mumbles, “I should probably go pack too. Who’s going to pack Patrick and… and Jonny’s stuff?”

When they all look at each other uneasily, Crow stands up saying, “I’ll do it. I packed all of my stuff up last night. And if anyone else needs it, I can help too.”

“Okay,” Sharpy says. “Crow, you pack up Pat’s room and Saader, if you can watch over the kid while I handle some things, that’d be great.” He looks at the rest of his team standing around. “Come on, you heard Q, that plane will leave without us. Get going.”

He grabs Patrick’s arm to pull him out of the chair and manages to pull one of his hands out of his body. “Jesus, Kaner, what did you do to yourself?” Patrick’s hands are turning blue and purple, spreading out of his knuckles like a spider web. When Pat just chews on the inside of his lip, Sharp mutters, “Come on, we’ll get you some ice,” throwing an arm around him.

Saad scurries behind them as Sharp leads him down the hall. “Hey, Sharp! Wait! Do I still need to watch after-“

“Yes, Manchild, keep up. I’m getting the kid some ice and then you’re going to watch him while I pack and talk to Q. But first, we need to get Kaner something for his hands until we can get them checked out; this isn’t hard to process,” Sharpy chirps, nearly dragging Patrick down the hall.

He tries to keep up with Sharpy until he trips on a stray cord in the hallway and slams to the floor. Pat breaks his fall with his hands and crumples in order to keep the scream in his body. Shaking with pain, Patrick feels himself lifted to his feet by Saad. “Hey man, come on, it’s okay.”

Patrick can feel his body suck all the pain radiating from his limbs and into his heart, fighting to replace the pain from losing Jonny. His eyes water and his teeth are gritted hard enough to almost make them crack, but he still doesn’t say a word. All of it stays bottled up inside of him like a Molotov cocktail, and Patrick really hopes that nobody has an open flame.

“Just stay here with him, Manchild. I’m going to go find ice.”

As Sharpy’s footsteps fade down the hall, Saad bends down to try and look him in the eye. “Kaner? Are your hands okay?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. When Pat doesn’t answer him and ducks away, he moves to stay in front of him. “Hey, no, don’t run away.” He catches Pat’s shoulders. “I know it’s hard with Jonny gone, but we are all here for you. We’re here for each other. We’re a team. But you need to start talking to us,” he says. “Even Q or someone.”

Patrick feels wet rivers slip down his cheeks as his body tenses up. He doesn’t pull away anymore, he can’t leave this broken. Saad bends down and meets his eyes. Patrick stares back, Brandon’s face going blurry through his tears. The younger man’s hand is rough as it slides over Pat’s cheek, wiping the tears off. “I know you miss Jonny more than any of us,” Brandon says, voice soft.

The breathless choke he finally lets out comes when Saad says, “I know you loved him. Well, love him.” He looks around panicked as Jonny’s rookie continues. “You were crazy about him, I know that. And I know how hard you two tried to keep it hidden.” He brushes Patrick’s hair off his damp forehead. “You were in love and you lost him and I can’t even imagine what’s that’s like. But not talking to anyone isn’t going to bring him back. And you know that, Kaner, so being brave isn’t going to help.”

His words feel like cotton in his mouth as his tongue pushes them out, barely audible, “Don’t tell… please.” And then his throat closes back up, losing everything that could’ve followed. Brandon just nods and pulls him in tight.

Sharp stands at the end of the hallway with bags of ice. He watches them for a minute more before heading towards them. Patrick flinches when he hears Sharp’s voice. “Okay, Kaner, got you some ice. Let me see those hands.”

Patrick holds them out and knows how bad they look, even though neither of his teammates have seen them yet. The blue and black bruises spiderweb from the outside of his hands through his knuckles. They’re protectively stuck into fists, fingers bent awkwardly. “Jesus, Kaner, why didn’t you tell anyone?” Saad says, supporting his wrists. Patrick winces as Sharpy puts the ice bag on top of his hands. “We should get you to Michael so he can check you out.”

All his physician does is stick some braces on his hands since apparently they’re healing just fine, despite the crumpled positions. So he sits on Brandon’s bed, hands aching from being stretched into their proper place, and watches Saad race around the room gathering everything he needs. Brandon swings his duffle bag over his shoulder and nearly carries Patrick down the hall. “Come on, you know I don’t like to be late. We need to get to the bus.”

They’re the last two to climb on, right behind Versteeg and Leddy. Patrick slinks into a seat next to Bollig quietly, followed by Saad sitting across the aisle from him.

Bollig nudges him a little bit and half-smiles at him. Patrick glances tiredly at him as he holds out a flask. He’s a little taken aback, but takes it shakily all the same. He’s not sure where Bollig got the alcohol but, from the softly acrid smell that sticks to his suit, Patrick assumes he’s had quite a lot. Bollig is nice enough to unscrew it for him before helping him take a swig. It burns the back of his throat but is a good reminder that his body still works. “Figured you could use that,” Bolly says, words slurring together a bit, before taking a drink of his own.

Patrick shudders at the sudden rush. The bus ride to the airport is longer than he’d like and the silence is deafening.

The airport looms in the distance and, for once, Patrick hasn’t wanted to go back to Chicago. Chicago meant having to face everyone and everything surrounding Jonny’s death. If he could, he’d fly a thousand miles just to forget about everything.

The bus jolts to a stop and everyone starts to get off. He watches Crow grab both his and Patrick’s duffle bags off the bus and head out with everyone else. “Come on Pat, let’s go,” Saad whispers.

Patrick’s feet feel like cement shoes as he struggles across the tarmac and up the steps into the plane. If he thought the bus had painfully awkward silence, the plane was even worse. All of the trainers, coaches, and players had resorted to stillness.

Duncan is whispering hushed in Seabs ear as the taller man burns a hole in the seat in front of them. Duncan’s eyes are worriedly scanning his friends face for any sign of emotion other than anger and hate for the universe. In a way, Patrick was jealous of them. They were the closest to brothers of anyone on the team. The way they played on the ice reflected that bond.

People said that about him and Jonathan too. But that went far beyond brothers and went as far as soul mates.

The first time he had met Jonny was when Jonny had just turned 11, and he was still 10. They had a game up in Toronto and Patrick couldn’t help be impressed by the gangly kid he saw doing better than anyone else on his team. Patrick had introduced himself after the game, but Jonny was still in the hockey mindset and just nodded with a, _“Yeah, Kane right? Toews.”_

Their moms and exchanged phone numbers and, every once in a while, they would get Christmas cards or photos from Andrée. Most of which either included Jonathan and his brother playing hockey or Jonathan looking horrifically bored holding a giant fish. So Patrick grew up with those popping up over his formative years.

He was so used to seeing Jonathan all tan and country that Patrick almost didn’t recognize him when they played together with the Junior Flyers. He had walked into their first practice, headphones in, and just started getting his gear on, lost in thought. It wasn’t until they hit the ice that Patrick heard the oddly familiar, _“Looking good, Kane,”_ come from one of the players. His head jerked up and saw the crooked smile flash by before Jonathan stole the puck and scored on him.

That time had culminated in lewd comments and a sexually confused make out session in a stairwell, as well as leaving Patrick completely smitten. Jonny had left him in love as he left back to Canada, seemingly nonplussed. After that, they had gone their separate ways, Jonny to Minnesota and him to Michigan.

But even after all the years apart, Patrick couldn’t get that tall, nerdy looking Canadian out of his head or his heart.

He caught the headline that Jonny had been drafted to the Chicago Blackhawks and realized he was going into the draft next year. All of which went by in a flash and suddenly he’s standing there, first ranked and first picked, on stage with a Blackhawks jersey on, smiling for the cameras.

There were a handful of the team at the party afterwards and Patrick tried to keep them all straight. He finally got a chance to get a bite of food in his mouth when he heard a voice whisper in his ear, _“You better not show me up my rookie year, Kane.”_

Patrick nearly choked on his hotdog as he turned around. There was Jonathan, grown at least half a foot since Patrick had seen him last, sporting the body of a grown man. It was like his entire world had been in black and white and suddenly there was color bursting in his life. Everything seemed to go into slow motion as his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. _“Hey, wow, you sure… Wow, you look great…”_ he spluttered with his mouth half full, turning red.

Jonathan chuckled a little and said, _“Seems like you haven’t change much at all since we were 13.”_ And with that, Jonathan had raised an eyebrow at him, cocked that stupid grin of his, leaned in close, and whispered, _“See you later, Kaner,”_ and walked away, leaving Patrick with his mouth still open in shock and awe.

And he now had done that again, left Patrick alone in the aisle of their plane, mouth open in disbelief and shock. Jonny was always there to tell him where to sit (usually with him) and to hold his legs still as they took off. But now there was no _“Hey Kaner, right here!”_ or _“Stop jiggling, you’re making me nervous,”_ and Patrick had to remember that.

“Peeks, sit down,” Sharpy says, tugging his sleeve to pull him into the seat next to him. The smell of the spearmint gum that Sharpy always chews to keep his airsickness at bay snakes around them.

Before Sharpy can get another word in, Patrick digs his headphones out of his pocket and shoves them deep in his ears with the two good fingers he has. The music is so loud it instantly gives him a headache, but at least he doesn’t have to listen to Sharp try and be Jonny.

The plane begins to back up, and his legs begin to bounce, almost on cue. Sharp reaches over and pus a hand on his knee, but Pat jerks his leg out of the older man’s reach. Sharp reaches out again, but Patrick flinches, eyes closing. He never tries again for the rest of the long flight.

He can feel someone pass quickly to the back of the plane, but he’s really stopped caring at this point. His music blurs time and the ride feels like forever. Every second drags lie a year as more and more of his energy drips into his seat.

Patrick’s body shakes during the landing, teeth clenched and eyes hard. Sharp shifts next to him as it pulls into the airport. The lights com back on and everyone creaks to their feet, shuffling towards the door.

The city goes by in the ride to the UC, wedged between Saad and Sharp. He can hear the buzzing fans and, for once, is thankful for the tinted windows. And, of course, the back entrance. As they file in and pause for a moment to collect themselves, Patrick hears someone whisper, “I don’t want to do this.” The hallway to the press room is empty as they stand at the end of it.

“Okay men, remember, if you don’t want to answer any question, there is no obligation. If I talked to you earlier, find a chair. I’ll do most of the talking,” their coach says, head held high. Patrick tries to duck out of the front line, but Keith puts an arm around his shoulder as they follow Q into the press room. Sharpy, Seabs, Hossa, and Crow wander out behind them as the rest of the team sits in chairs by the side of the tables. They sit in front of their name tags amid the buzzing reporters. Patrick glances up only to watch Seabs look towards Duncan, almost panicked, and slump frustratedly down in his chair on the other side of the table.

As Patrick shrinks himself, head down, he knows everyone is looking for Jonny. But his name card will never sit on these tables again, next to Patrick’s or Crow’s or Sharp’s. It’s the little disappearing reminders that hurt Pat the most.

Everyone goes silent as Q clears his throat and leans towards his microphone. He takes a deep breath and begins. “Today, the Blackhawks, as well as their families, experienced a devastating loss. Early this morning in LA, Jonathan Toews was found dead in his hotel room.”

The collective gasp crashes through the room like a train. Patrick feels his body begin to shake and hides his tears in one hand. “Cause of death was a subdural hematoma caused by the illegal hit from Doughty during our last game on Wednesday night. Toews showed no signs of anything other than a mild concussion, and it was a mistake on everyone’s part, including mine,” Q says, almost robotically, but Patrick catches his voice crack at the end. “I’ve contacted the league and there will be a three week postpone of all games to give both the team, their families, and our fans time to mourn. There will be a private funeral and we ask that you respect Jonathan’s family’s wishes and keep it that way.”

One reporter calls out, “Kane and Toews have mentioned being roommates on the road. Was Kane the one who found him?”

Patrick’s legs jolt and he moves carefully to make a run for it, but Duncan grabs his sleeve to pull him back down. He can’t meet his friend’s eyes as Duncan makes a reassuring noise at him.

The table is silent for a second until Sharp says, “No, I was. Kaner was rooming with Saad since Shawzy was here in Chicago. So Jonny was alone in his room. When I went to check on him, I found him in bed.” The thought of Jonny being alone in there, although untrue, is enough to break him even more. Pat’s cheeks heat up as he sniffs.

A reporter asks, “Patrick, how are you dealing with this? As one half of the duo that brought Chicago hockey back to life, how is this-“

Q cuts the reporter off, saying, “Everyone on the team is grieving in their own way and that should be respected. This is the biggest blow the franchise, let alone team, has ever dealt with.” His eyes turn hard toward the reporters. “I hope all of you could not ask intrusive questions.”

“Is there going to be a lawsuit?” Everyone’s heads swivel to a woman with a notepad. “Are Toews’s parents filling charges against Doughty or the trainers? I’m sure someone was responsible and will have to answer for killing him.”

Q clenches his jaw. “Any lawsuit would be filed by Jonathan’s family and they haven’t put out a statement yet. I don’t know if they will or will not.”

“How is this going to affect the team dynamic? Losing the captain in such a way?”

Surprisingly, it’s Duncan who speaks up, saying, “Obviously we’re going to need to step up and fill those positions. Jonathan is a great player that can’t be replaced.” Patrick flinches at the present tense. “Some of the more senior members of the team, Brent and myself included, will have to take on leadership roles.” He looks over at Seabrook, who is glaring at the white tablecloth. “We have a long road ahead of us, though.”

“It was days away from the playoffs, what do you think this does to Chicago’s chances of winning the Cup this year?”

Hossa leans forward and mutters quietly, “Well, obviously this is going to be hard to get through, but we just have to do what we always do and put 100% in, and hope for the best.”

"Who do you think is going to be next in line for Captain?” someone calls out. “When’s the vote?”

The panel is quiet until Corey leans forward, eyes dark, and spits out, “Jonathan hasn’t even been dead for 12 hours and you’re asking who’s next in line? Why did you think that was okay? We haven’t even buried our friend and you’re fucking talking about replacing him?” Crow’s voice is angry but Patrick feels his pain. They shouldn’t be thinking, let alone talking, about this.

The woman takes a step back, realizing she crossed that line. Q runs a hand over his mustache. “Okay, I think that’s all the questions we’re going to answer today. Thank you, everyone, for coming today.”

As everyone on the team stands up to file out, Patrick just sits there, staring blankly into the flashing cameras and microphones. He’s too tired to move and any energy he had before turned into mold in his head and heart, poisoning him slowly. The house that is his body destroys itself from the inside, leaving nothing but a facade with a broken foundation.

“Come on, Kaner,” Duncan whispers, grabbing one of his shoulders in each hand. “It’s time to leave.” And with that, Duncan nearly carries him into the locker room.

Everyone is in various states of disarray, but Patrick knows he looks the worst. They all gather around Q as he says, “I hope that all of you have places to stay, and anyone that doesn’t has a welcome place with me. If you don’t want to be alone, talk to your teammates. Everyone has to be there for each other, otherwise we won’t make it through this.” They all look at each other with grim faces. They know their coach is right, but it’s hard to handle a bomb dropped out of nowhere like this.

“The funeral will be on later this week, as you know, and I will send out an email once I get information from Bryan and Andrée…” he says, looking around at his team. They shuffle and shift, heads down and shoulders hunched. Tragedy has a way of turning grown men into children and aging children faster than they should. But, unfortunately, the team had been turned upside down and no amount of talking will fix it. “Any other questions?” They all shake their heads and Q sighs. “Very well, I will see you all soon.”

Patrick watches his coach trudge slowly out the locker room doors, all the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. He was holding up so far, but even he was close to breaking, and Patrick can’t imagine how much longer Q could hold on.

Duncan moves to take the place at the center of the group. “The longer we stay here, the harder it’s going to be to avoid the press. So I’d suggest getting out of here as soon as possible. All you single guys have to stick together, and I can help sort things out if need be,” he says.

Leddy raises his hand. “Saad is going to be coming with me and I think Bolly is going with Crow.”

“Okay, good,” Duncan says. “If you didn’t drive here, I’ll order cabs for you. I just want everyone to get home safe. If anyone needs anything, do not hesitate to call anyone on the team. Understand?”

Everyone nods in agreement and starts heading towards the door. Patrick stands there, getting jostled which way and that as they move past him. He pulls his body in tight and listens to his friends leave. He hears Duncan whispering to Seabs to calm down and that of course he’s not driving. And then they head out the door as well. The locker room is silent as he stares down at the Indian Head. He looks up and sees Jonny’s locker standing almost empty along with everyone else’s.

He runs his hand along Jonny’s nameplate, thumb tracing over the J. There’s only one of Jonathan’s shirts hanging on the hook and he pulls it off. It’s soft and well worn, smelling just like Jonathan. Patrick sinks down to his knees as his fingers find the C. He puts his forehead on the bench and the shirt, inhaling everything he’s missed.

The wood is hard and completely different than Jonny’s body underneath the shirt. There’s no heavy breathing, no steady, slow heartbeat, no love.

“Peeks?” He closes his eyes when he hears Sharp’s voice behind him. “I just got off the phone with Abby. I’m taking you with me and you can stay with us as long as you need to.” Patrick lifts his head, staring at the C a while more before wiping his eyes. “She wants us home.”

Sharpy’s car is the kind of messy that new parents always seem to have. There were finger-paintings and cracker crumbs and socks littered on the floor and backseats. “Sorry for the mess,” he says. “Kids need to make sure you know they’re there, even when they aren’t.” Patrick moves a shoe off the passenger’s seat. Sharp throws it somewhere behind him and starts the car. “Are you hungry? Do you want to stop anywhere on the way home?”

Patrick shakes his head no and wraps his arms around his growling stomach. It’s following suit with the rest of his body. It’s going through the motions although he doesn’t feel hungry, just like how he cries but has stopped feeling anything.

Sharp watches him for a couple seconds before turning out into the road.

The drive goes by quietly until they pull onto Sharp’s street. “Okay, so I told Abby what happened already, and she’s very upset about it, so be prepared for a very hormonal woman. I know that’s not really your thing, but play along because she’s my wife.” They pull into the driveway and Patrick watches Sharpy get their duffle bags out of the back seats. His door feels like a cement wall as he struggles to get it open and get out.

There’s a good three feet of space created when he walks behind Sharp, as his friend opens the door to his house. “Abbs, we’re home!”

Patrick stands on the stoop and watches from outside the door as Abby flies down the stairs and into her husband’s arms. He can see her body shake from crying and her face is red and blotchy. Sharpy rubs her back gently and whispers something in her ear. She nods and looks up, seeing Patrick standing outside like a lost puppy.

“Oh Patrick…” she exclaims, breaking away from Sharpy and dashing through the door. Abby pulls him to her chest and Pat just slumps against her tiredly. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she murmurs, stroking his curls gently. “You poor, poor thing. How are you taking this?” she asks, cupping his face. When he just stares at her blankly, body shaking, she holds him tight. Abby leads him inside, arm snug around his body, and looks at Sharp worriedly. “Has he eaten anything? He looks pale.”

“I asked him if he wanted to stop anywhere on the way, but he didn’t say anything. Figured maybe dinner later would help,” he says, leaning against a table. “Where’s my little lady?”

Abby jerks her head toward the dining room. “She’s having a snack. She insisted she finished before saying hello to you.”

“What did you tell her? Does she know anything?”

Abby shudders a little and says, “I told her Uncle Jonny was going away and that was it. She asked if he was coming back and I couldn’t answer her. I figured you could say it… better than I could…” She wipes her eyes. “She’s getting nervous though seeing me cry.”

Both Sharps heads jerk up to the stairs as crying erupts from one of the bedrooms. “Sadie?” Sharp asks. His wife nods and starts heading to the stairs. “I can get her if you want me to, Abbs.”

“No, you should spend some time with Madelyn. She misses you,” Abby says, hurrying to go grab their baby.

Maddie comes softly padding out of the dining room. “Daddy? Where’s Uncle Jonny go? Mama said he’s gone away.” Her bottom lip sticks out and she turns her big blue eyes on her father.

Sharp picks her up and plants a kiss on her cheek. He walks across the living room to sit on the couch across from Patrick. He gives her a soft, sad smile and holds her close on his lap. “You know how sometimes your toys stop working when they run out of batteries?” Maddie nods. “Well, sometimes people’s batteries run out and they stop working too.”

Maddie looks at him curiously. “They get new ones?” she asks, not fully understanding.

“No, sweetie, people don’t get new batteries. They can’t work again and we have to say goodbye to them. They don’t come back.”

“Did you say goodbye to Uncle Jonny?” she asks, head tilting.

Sharpy sighs and brushes her fine blonde hair out of her face. He’s not sure what to say but they’ve always told her the truth. “No, I have to say goodbye soon."

Maddie hugs her dad and pats his head. “We say goodbye to Uncle Jonny togever, then.” She kisses him on the cheek gently. “I love you, daddy.” She climbs down off the couch and walks over to Patrick. Tugging on his pant leg, she puts her chin on his knee. “Uncle Peeks? You say goodbye to Uncle Jonny?” Patrick’s lip trembles and he clenches everything to keep composed. But he can’t look at the little girl as a single tear slips out. Madelyn looks at her father and asks, “Why Uncle Peeks sad?”

“Sometimes when we have to say goodbye to someone, it can make us sad. You get sad when I have to leave on trips or when Mama goes on errands that you can’t go on, right? Well, grown ups feel that way sometimes too. Does that make sense?” Sharp says, grinning at her.

She studies Patrick for a second before running to the stairs. Patrick watches her bear-crawl up the steps and disappear into her room. She returns in a second before sliding down the steps on her stomach. Maddie runs over to Patrick, holding out a well worn pink bear. “Here go Uncle Peeks. When I gets sad, I hugs Piggy and he makes it better.” She puts the bear in his lap. “He makes you better too.”

Patrick runs a thumb over a chewed on ear and feels his mouth tremble again. He picks Maddie up too and holds her close. She puts her hands on his cheeks and kisses the tip of his nose. He stares back into her big blue eyes and tries to hold back the tears that just don’t seem to stop.

When one leaks out, she wipes it off and says, “Mama had sad eyes too. I hope your sad eyes get happy soon.”

He hugs her tight and lets her hop down and take off down the hallway, skipping as she goes. Sharp looks at him hesitantly and says, “Patrick… are you oka-“

Sharpy can’t even get a word in because Patrick just collapses in sobs on his ottoman. Pat knows he looks ridiculous, a grown man crying on a footstool, clutching a toddler’s stuffed animal. But none of that matters because the toy seems to be the only thing keeping him alive right now.

“Peeks, hey, come on,” Sharpy says calmly, putting a hand on his back. “You need to be strong. Jonny would want you to be strong.” But he can’t be. He can’t be because his only reason for being strong is probably being flown from LA to Chicago in a box right now.

Through the noise, he can still hear his friend sigh to himself and say, “Come on Patrick, why don’t you try and get some sleep. You’re probably exhausted.” Patrick can barely walk as Sharpy hoists him up and helps him up the stairs. He can hear Abby cooing at Sadie in her room and feels a pain in his heart that he can’t quite place. Sharpy pulls back the covers back on the guest room bed. “Can you lay down at least? Please?”

There’s a twinge of brokenness in Sharp’s voice that makes the tears feel like acid. Everything hurts and it seems like nothing can fix any of it.

Patrick accepts the help as Sharpy maneuvers him into the sheets, and covers him up carefully. He pictures the veteran player tucking in Maddie the same way, the comforting press on the shoulders, the smoothing of the hair, the gentle murmuring.

“You’re the strongest kid I know, Kaner. You’re gonna get through it. We all will. You have an entire team to fall back on. Don’t think you have to battle this alone.” Sharp’s voice is calm and gentle, almost sickeningly so. “I’m here, Abby’s here. Don’t cut the world out,” he says. “We’re not going to leave you.” Patrick takes a shuddering breath. Jonny said he wouldn’t leave either, but look where that got him. He didn’t put too much stake on promises anymore, especially ones that couldn’t be kept.

When he doesn’t answer still, Sharpy sighs and pats his back. “Okay then, well I’m going to go if you’re not going to talk. We’ll be downstairs if you need us, okay?”

Patrick stays still until he hears the door shut. He buries his face in the pillow, body shaking. He’s going to die, he just knows it. This felt like a million bricks crushing down on his chest, leaving him breathless and unable to move. Jonny was gone and he was left with nothing.

_“Patrick?”_

His blood runs cold. He rolls back over to look at the door. It’s still firmly shut, nobody coming in since Sharp exited. Patrick lets out a shaky breath when he hears his name called again, _“Patrick?”_

This isn’t happening. He’s not hearing Jonny’s voice. It’s all in his head. He was crazy. That was it. Being overly tired, hungry, thirsty, and overwhelmed by emotions had left him hallucinating Jonny’s voice. That was the only logical explanation. Jonny was dead, that much was for certain. _"Pat, my head hurts. I don't know why I'm here. Nobody's talking to me. I tried asking Sharpy but he won't even look at me."_ Tears pool in Patrick's eyes a he covers his ears. _"Kaner, why are you crying? Did something happen?"_ Pat bites his hand to muffle a sob when he hears Jonny's voice ask, _"Did something happen to me?"_

Turning his face out of the pillow, he swears he can see Jonny kneeling on the floor in front of him. It's like Jonny's made of air, body as wispy as the wind. Patrick shakes as his boyfriend reaches out to touch his face. But, before Jonathan's hand meets his skin, his fingers explode in a cloud of mist.

Jonathan looks at his fingers as they reappear, drawing away from Patrick. His eyes go blank and bloodshot, just like Patrick had found him, as he says, _"I'm dead, aren't I?”_

There was nothing that could prepare him for having to nod, slowly and carefully, watching Jonny’s face crumble into confusion. Patrick closes his eyes, finally losing it as Jonny says, _“You’re lying!”_ over and over until the room is deafening with his screams.

And then, finally, the room turns silent. Patrick opens his eyes, looking around for Jonny. He’s nowhere to be seen and Pat’s starting to think this was all some big nightmare. He sits up, shoulders slumping, until he hears, shouted brokenly in his ears, _"I trusted you!"_

He barely makes it into the bathroom before vomiting.

Patrick tires to make as little noise as possible as he washes his mouth out and moves back into the guest room. He had already disturbed the Sharps enough; he didn’t want to do it anymore.

He stays locked up in his own mind throughout the night. He can’t sleep, not anymore. The blankets stay drawn around his shoulders, protecting him from the dark corners of the room where the whispered, _“I’m sorry”_ s echo deep into the night.

~

Patrick hears Abby and Sharpy get up with the girls around 6am. He waits another full hour before dragging himself out of bed and down the stairs.

He tries as hard as he can to ignore the look on Sharpy’s face when he sits down on the couch beside his teammate. The news drones on across the TV in front of him. HIs body jostles a little as Sharpy nudges him, saying, “Can you drink some juice? Please?”

Staring at the cup of orange juice pressed into his his hand, Patrick gives in and sips on it carefully as he turns his attention to the TV.

Both news anchors have much too solemn of faces for a Friday morning. And their tones are even more grim as they say, “It’s Friday morning and Chicago is still dealing from an unexpected loss yesterday…”

Sharpy grabs the remote, saying, “We don’t need to watch this-“ but Patrick stops him, shaking his head.

Sharpy sits back with an uneasy expression on his face as the anchor continues, “One of Chicago’s favorite sons, Jonathan Toews, who was Captain of the NHL team the Chicago Blackhawks, was found dead in a LA hotel Thursday morning, where the team was staying. According to reports, he died of a head injury sustained from a hit by LA defenseman Drew Doughty.”

 _“So it’s true…”_ he hears, close to his ear and knows it must be Jonny.

“Comments from either team have been limited at best, but we did manage to get a statement form NHL commissioner, Gary Bettman.”

_“Losing Jonathan Toews was a horrific loss to his family, friends, and team. He was an outstanding example of leadership, not only on his team but in his communities of Chicago and Winnipeg. Drew Doughty was given a major penalties for charging and boarding during the game, making it an illegal hit. Doughty is suspended indefinitely, without pay, from both the NHL and AHL affiliates. We in no way condone his actions that led to the death of a fellow player. We will be cooperating fully with the investigation and whatever follows. Myself and the league send our deepest sympathies to Jonathan’s family and friends. He will be greatly missed.”_

The recording stops and Patrick doesn’t even notice that his hands are shaking. His brain blurs the voices out and tunnel vision surrounds a reporter in front of the UC. The electronic signs have changed from the usual ones of one of his teammates in their gear to Jonny’s face, casual and out of uniform. It’s a good enough picture that it makes his stomach knot up. Jonny’s not looking at the camera, but he’s still all smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling happily.

He can barely read the words through his tears.

_‘O’ Captain, my Captain’_

_Jonathan Toews 1988-2014_

“Look at all of that…” Sharpy says as the camera pans around the thousands of flowers, mementos, and pictures stacked in the front of the UC. There are piles of everything, placed as a memorial for Tazer. He can see a little boy with tears in his eyes place his tiny Toews jersey next to some flowers. “Shit,” Sharpy says, pulling a hand through his hair. “This is fucked up.”

Abby comes around the corner for a second, but it takes one look at the TV for her to burst into tears and hurry back up the stairs.

Maddie comes around the corner, clearly looking for her mom and hears her upstairs, crying. “Daddy? Is Mama sad again?”

“Yeah, baby girl, she’s just having a hard time right now. Do you wanna come sit down with us?” She nods and climbs into Sharpy’s lap.

Maddie pauses a little, taking in the scene on the TV. She glances at Patrick for a second before asking quietly, “Is all that for Uncle Jonny?"

Sharpy nods and holds her tightly. “Yes, sweetie. A lot of people are sad Uncle Jonny’s not going to be around anymore, so people brought some stuff to remember him.” He brushes her hair gently, “It’s just another way for people to say goodbye.”

The little girl looks up at her father and asks, “Can we go down to theres and put something out for Uncle Jonny? Please?”

“We’ll talk to Mama, okay? She might have to go down with you without Daddy, I don’t want things going too crazy if people see me,” Sharpy says, picking her up off the couch. “We can find something for you to take if you want, though. I think you still have one of his bobble heads from Christmas.” They head up the stairs to Maddie’s room, leaving Patrick alone.

Pat stares at the half empty glass as Sharpy comes back down the stairs, saying, “Peeks, we’re going to go to the UC so Madds can put her toy there. Abby wants to stop and get some flowers on the way. She and I think it’d be good if you came too.”

He doesn’t say yes but he can’t say no. He doesn’t want to go because he knows it’s going to be all eyes on them once they get recognized. After minutes of Sharpy staring him down, he finally pushes off the couch and grabs his sweatshirt. Sharpy smiles at him, saying, “It’s going to mean a lot to everybody.”

And it does. There are probably 100 people out there when they get out downtown. Sharpy grabs Sadie in one arm and Maddie’s hand in another. When Patrick gets out, Abby laces their arms together to steady him. “You’re doing fine, Patrick,” she reassures him as someone pulls out a phone and starts filming them. Patrick can feel his legs shake and his shoulders bow.

The memorial has grown in the hour since he saw it on the news, more flowers, pictures, and candles. The fans fall silent as they approach, parting to let them through. Patrick hangs his head low, avoiding their gazes as they approach the biggest picture. Sharpy lets go of Maddie’s hand to let her put the figurine on top of the pile. Patrick thinks back to when she got it from Jonny, the Christmas after her first birthday. The look on Sharpy’s face when he had helped his daughter open it was priceless.

Now, Maddie was giving it back.

He can hear Abby bite her lip to muffle her sobs as she places the bouquet of lilies next to the bobble head. He blinks back his own tears when Sharpy starts quietly thanking some fans for doing this. When he can’t hold it together any longer, the cry he lets out is loud enough for Abby to hear. She looks at her husband, saying, “Patrick, we should go…”

Sharpy nods and grabs Maddie, heading to the car. A reporter steps in front of them, beginning to say, “Can you come speak with us for a sec-“

Abby steps forward, holding Pat close, before any of the men could talk. “We are trying to quietly mourn our friend. This is neither the time nor place for an interview. Now, if you could please let us go…” She puts her free hand in the small of Patrick’s back as she hurries them past the reporter and camera, and into the car. She stuffs him in the passengers seat right as the tears came.

He bends over and just lets go, tears and sobs falling freely from his body. Sharpy climbs in and settles the girls, saying, “Come on Abbs, people are starting to notice.”

That’s probably what hurts more. The people staring, judging, even though Pat can’t see them. “Just stay down, Pat,” Abby says, pulling away from the curb quickly. Patrick does as he’s told, staying bent over, shaking, til they get back home.

“Well, that didn’t go terribly,” Sharpy says, helping Maddie and Sadie down to the ground. The younger of the two girls tottles towards the door as Maddie clings to Abby, stamping her feet up and down. He stops for a second when his phone rings. “Hey Abbs, can you get the girls inside? It’s Crow.” She nods as Sharpy answers with a quick, “Crow, how’s it going on your end of the city?”

Patrick gets out as Sharpy says, “Woah, Corey, slow down. What about Bolly?” He stops, listening. “Shit, if he’s that drunk, just take him home. You don’t need to deal with that. I know, I know what Q said, but you don’t have to deal with that. Especially when you’re not doing so hot yourself.”

Sharpy listens for a bit and laughs, “Okay, will do. If you need any help, just call me. Kaner says hi, by the way.”

Patrick gives him a confused look as he hangs up the phone. “Don’t worry about it, Peeks. Bolly is just self medicating with lots of alcohol. Like, a lot. Crow’s going to take him home. It’s fine,” Sharpy says offhandedly.

He knows it’s not, but Sharpy was a Class A bullshitter. Crow handled things relatively well, so if he was calling for help, it wasn’t ‘fine.’ The entire team was falling apart without Jonny, not just him.

Patrick follows Sharpy into the house, immediately having a headache split the space between his eyes as Maddie comes screaming over to him. She’s exhausted and cranky, stomping her feet and crying back at her mom. “I don’t wants to take a nap! I wants to stay with Uncle Peeks!” she screams, pulling at him desperately.

Abby sighs, trying to keep Sadie calm in the madness, and just looks at her husband. “Patrick, you need to take care of this. I’m putting Sadie down.”

Maddie’s big blue eyes are still wet with tears as Sharpy gets down to her level. “Hey baby girl, you know it’s time to take a nap, right? You’re already pretty tired, and you don't want to get super tired, do you?”

She sniffs and holds on to Patrick tighter. “I wants to staaaay,” she sobs, wrapping her arms round his leg. He picks her up carefully as she buries her face in his shoulder, body shaking. “I wants to stay with Uncle Peeks. I wants to stay.”

“How about this?” Sharpy starts. “How about Uncle Peeks tucks you in and stays with you until you fall asleep?” Maddie doesn’t look at her dad but just nods her head. Sharpy smiles a little and brushes her hair out of her face. “Okay, munchkin. Then let’s go upstairs.”

Patrick tucks Maddie in as best he can and lays down next to Maddie on the floor. Sharpy shuts the light off and everything is quiet for a second before Maddie starts tugging on his sleeve. “Uncle Peeks. I wants to cuddle.” He sighs and nods his head. She climbs out of bed and pulls him towards the guest bedroom. She crawls on top and pats the pillow next to her. “Here go.”

Begrudgingly, Patrick obliges. He lays down next to her and lets her wrap her arms around his, snuggling up close. Quickly, the toddler falls asleep, tucked in next to him, and, not long after, Patrick feels himself drift away quietly.

He’s jerked awake quicker than he’d like to be, as Maddie pokes his face gently. “Uncle Peeks, wakes up!” She kisses the tip of his nose. Patrick brushes a couple thin strands out of her face and smiles tiredly at her. He remembers when Maddie was born, Sharpy excitedly awaiting his first daughter. The moment Patrick had seen her, he had fallen in love with her too. The moment he had seen her, he saw a future he had never thought about before. One of him and Jonny with children of their own, not just one with the two of them in it.

~

The sun feels hot on his face as he sits in the grass in the backyard the next day. Shooter’s digging around in the tall grass in the far corner, Maddie close at his heels. Patrick watches them tiredly, eyes blinded by light. “Hey Kaner,” Sharpy says suddenly, sitting down next to him. They sit in silence for a few minutes, watching Maddie squeal when Shooter licks her face.

“I got the email from Coach,” Sharpy says. Patrick watches a bug crawl up a leaf before taking off into the sky. “The funeral’s going to be on Monday. At 11. You’ve got a couple days to get it together. I guess Andrée and Bryan wanted a couple of the guys to say some words. Not sure who though.” It clearly isn’t Patrick. Otherwise Sharpy would’ve said something. But it’s not like Patrick can talk anyway, not to Sharp, let alone a funeral crowd.

Running a hand through his hair, Sharpy sighs. “One more thing.” Now what. “There’s going to be a press conference tonight. Q said around 6. Should be on the news. Andrée and Bryan are going to talk about everything.”

So it was finally happening. It was all the news in Chicago was about lately. When were Jonathan Toews’ parents going to come out and make a public statement? Was Drew Doughty going to face criminal charges? The questions were endless and the answers nonexistent. There were speculations everywhere; anybody involved had locked themselves away from the press. Their lead trainer had already resigned due to press and fan harassment and that was after only Thursday and Friday. Patrick can’t even imagine what it was like being Andrée and Bryan.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts when Maddie finally sees Sharpy, shrieking, “Daddy!” and running over. She barrels into him at full speed, Sharp going down a little too easily. The little girl thrashes with laughter as her father tickles her before taking off, letting her chase him. Patrick picks at the hem of his sweatpants as Shooter comes ambling over. He scratches the dog’s long ears aimlessly, watching his friend run around.

Patrick loses track of how long he sits out there in the grass. It’s long after Maddie and Sharpy go inside, long after lunch, and long after Shooter saunters inside to take a midday nap.

The sky is starting to turn pink and orange when Abby opens the back door, calling, “Pat, can you come in?” His knees are sore from sitting in the same position for hours, legs aching from disuse. He makes his way into the living room to see Sharpy sitting in front of the TV, chin in hand, local news on. His eyes are intent on the screen, not even looking up when Patrick sits down next to him.

The news anchor says, “Tonight, we have a new development in our ongoing story of the tragic death of Chicago Blackhawks’ superstar and Captain, Jonathan Toews. As all of you know, Toews unexpectedly died of a brain injury during a game against the LA Kings a few days ago. Blackhawks’ management, as well as Toews’ family have been very quiet about the incident. But we’re now going live to a press conference with Jonathan’s parents, Andrée Gilbert and Bryan Toews.”

The camera feed cuts to Bryan and Andrée, surrounded by reporters. They both look haggard and worn, stretched to their seams by grief. Bryan begins, saying, “Thank you all for coming today. We just want to start by saying ‘Thank you,’ for the tremendous amount of support everyone has shown us over the past few days. This is an extremely difficult time in our family and we appreciate the outpour of kind words coming from the city and from fans all of the country. We’ve even had people as far as Sweden and Russia send their condolences. It’s been amazing to see, especially in such a hard time.”

Andrée steps up, struggling to be heard over the questions of reporters. “We have made funeral arrangements for our son, but for our family’s sake, they will not be released to the press. We are having a quiet burial with the people that knew him and loved him. There will be a memorial at the United Center soon for the fans. The team’s management will announce it soon.”

“Is Jonathan being buried here or in his hometown in Canada?”

Patrick can see the question weigh them down. Bryan says, “We’ve thought long and hard about it, and, while part of us wants to bring our son home, we know that Jonathan considered Chicago his home too. This place gave him everything he dreamed of as a kid, and now we can revisit those memories every time we visit him.”

And, since nobody wanted to wait around for the question to be asked, one reporter finally gets it over with. “Will you be pressing charges on Drew Doughty or any of the trainers for what happened to your son?”

Bryan squeezes Andrée’s hand as she answers, saying, “We’ve talked with our lawyer and we have decided to press charges against Doughty.” The entire room explodes with questions. “I’m not at liberty to say what the charges will be just yet, but there will be a trial in the summer and fall months. We’re trying to keep it during the offseason so Jonathan’s teammates who will have to participate will not be taken away from games.”

Patrick sits back, stunned. Trial. Lawsuit. This was the biggest news in the NHL and it just got even bigger. Sure, there were various injured player lawsuits, but nobody had ever died. This was going to be a media circus like no other. “Jesus,” Sharp whispers, “we’re going to be involved in this. I just know it.”

Of course they were going to be. Patrick was the one who had found Jonny, and Sharpy was the one covering for him. Either way if the truth came out or not, they were going to be on the stand.

“I hope that bastard gets put away for life.” They both turn to see Abby standing behind the couch, angry tears in her eyes. “He should rot in jail for what he did to Jonny. It’s just not right,” she says, wiping her eyes. She glances at Patrick briefly before turning to her husband. “What’re we going to do if he doesn’t?”

Sharpy stands up and meets her, pulling her close. “Don’t worry Abbs, that won’t happen. Doughty’ll get what he deserves. He’s already be suspended indefinitely. Hasn’t officially been kicked off the team yet…” Sharp says, combing through her hair. “At least his career is already over. Now it’s just if he’ll see any jail time.”

“But you know he’ll get the best lawyers in LA on his side. It just isn’t fair. I don’t know what I’ll do if-“

He reassures her, saying, “Don’t worry, Jonny and Bryan and Andrée have the best on their side too. I’ve been emailing Andrée and I guess they got some hot shot Chicago lawyer to do the work pro-bono. Apparently he’s been a big Hawks fan since he was a kid.” He kisses her forehead. “We don’t have to deal with this now. We just have to worry about getting through the funeral. It’s going to be all right.”

Patrick slinks down in the couch. It wasn’t going to be okay though. It hasn’t been okay since Jonny got hit. This was still his fault. He should’ve known not to go to sleep. He should’ve known to keep a better eye out, no matter what the trainers said. And that, while it would make him feel a little better, wouldn’t be fixed by Doughty seeing jail time.

 _“Patrick?”_ He hears Jonny’s voice ringing distantly in his ears. He closes his eyes and concentrates on how each syllable sounded.

“Patrick?” He’s jolted out of his small world. “Patrick?” It’s Abby. She looks at him worriedly. “Are you okay?” He just shrugs, blowing her question off to look back down at his hands. “Are you sure he needs to stay here?” She whispers, not quietly enough, to Sharpy. “Should we call his parents?”

Sharp whispers back, “I’m sure he called them. This is the best place he can be. He wouldn’t take care of himself if he was at home.”

Patrick can feel both their eyes on him before Abby pulls Sharpy into the kitchen, and he can still hear them when Abby says, “He doesn’t take care of himself here! He won’t sleep, he won’t eat, he barely drinks anything since you guys got home. Sooner or later he’s going to get dehydrated and pass out and we’re going to have to take him to the hospital. Do you _really_ want to have to do that?”

“Abbs, calm down. It’s not going to get to that point. Pat’s just going through some really rough shit right now, you know that. The best thing we can do is to just be there for him.” Abby sighs, saying defeatedly, “I know. It’s just hard. Hopefully after the funeral he’ll start to get better.”

Like that would happen. There was no getting over something like this. The man he loved was dead. That wasn’t something that would get better. Pulling himself out of the couch, Patrick makes his way upstairs, falling into bed, body completely exhausted. Just living seemed to take all his energy, leaving nothing behind.

~

He’s not sure how long he lays there, eyes half hung, but he’s left there in the ticking-clock silence. He’s left there in bed with only his thoughts to mind him until there’s a soft tap tap on the door. With still no answer, it opens quietly, Sharpy standing in the doorway. His friend’s smile is weary, evident in his voice as he says, “Hey Kaner, you’ve been in bed for over a day. We’re getting ready for the funeral. Do you still want to come?”

Patrick rolls over, body sore from being in one place for too long, and just starts to climb out of bed. Sharpy smiles gently at him, saying, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Half an hour later, his horrifically greasy hair has been combed through, his teeth haphazardly brushed, and his body stuffed inside his suit, all with much help from Sharpy. Patrick knows he looks like shit but takes solace in the fact that nobody in the funeral will expect him to look anything more.

“Everybody ready to go?” Abby asks once they get downstairs. She has Sadie in her arms and Maddie clinging to the hem of her dress. When Sharpy nods, she says, “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

The parking lot is absolutely packed, cars lined up and down the streets, but Sharpy manages to find a spot wedged in the corner. Patrick sits in the backseat, heart pumping heavily in his chest, nervousness nearly choking him out. “Pat? Come on kid, you can do this,” Sharp says, holding out a helping hand. He takes it and climbs out, letting Sharpy in his space to get his daughters out.

“I wonder if any of the guys are here yet,” Abby says, taking the infant from Sharp. Maddie looks around at the new surroundings, holding close behind her mother.

Sharpy waves across the parking lot. “There’s Duncs and Kelly-Rae. I’m kind of surprised they didn’t bring Colton along,” he says, grabbing his wife’s and Patrick's arms. But Duncan and his wife have already started making their way over to them and the funeral home. “Duncs, hows it going? No baby today?”

Kelly-Rae smiles softly and says, “Colton is with our neighbor. He’s got a cold and we didn’t want him fussing the whole time time.” She beams at Maddie and Sadie. “Not like your little angels.”

Sharpy lets out laugh. “Well, with a dad like Jigsaw, what did you expect?” Duncan punches him in the arm and is about to open his mouth when a car screeches into the parking lot. It weaves quickly into one of the spaces and jumps to a stop. “Isn’t that Seabsy’s car?” Sharp asks, watching intently.

And, indeed, it is. Dayna storms out of the car, wrenches the passenger side door open, and shouts, “Get out! _NOW_!” They watch as Dayna grabs Brent’s shirt and drags him out of the car. He rips himself out of her grip and slams the door hard enough to rattle the car. His wife flings the back door open and carefully grabs Carter out of the backseat.

“What the hell is going on?” Duncan asks incredulously. “Dayna is losing her shit on him, look!”

Dayna is whispering heatedly to Brent, face contorted in anger. Brent glares back at her stonily, jaw set hard. She whips her head over at them and begins to march over. “I am not dealing with this anymore!” she screams, holding her baby tight. All of the commotion has woken Carter up and he starts wailing. “I am not going to sit around while Brent goes on a rampage! I'm not going to let him hurt me or Carter!” Nobody can miss the angry fear in her eyes.

Brent starts stalking over and they all notice the dark bruise on his temple. He stops when Dayna glares at him.

Sharp almost shakes himself out of it a little and says, “Woah woah woah, Day, what the hell happened?”

Patrick flinches when Dayna hisses, “I’m sure you all know, but failed to let me in on the secret. Because he seems to be on a mission to destroy anything and everything good in his life. And he won’t talk about anything of course. Brent tried to grab me when I tried asking if he wanted to come to this. I don’t know what he would’ve done if I hadn’t hit him with a plate. He punched a hole in our wall for no reason in particular. I’m not letting him in the house until he gets his shit together.” Patrick glances at her arm and notices a light bruise on her wrist and knows that she embellished at least the the ‘tried’ part of her story.

Carter starts to settle down when Kelly-Rae says, “We’ll handle him, Dayna. I don’t want him ruining your house, otherwise I would have suggested you and Carter stay with us. Duncan has spent more time around him than any of us. And I’m big enough to handle my own.”

Dayna looks unsure at her friend and says, much quieter, “Are you sure? Is Colton going to be okay?”

Duncan nods. “Brent knows I’d fucking kill him if he hurt Colt. We’ll be okay.”

Sighing, Dayna says, “I feel bad kicking him out after Jonathan died, but I don’t feel safe with him home.” She looks around at them. “God, I hate saying that… I’m going to go talk to Jonathan’s family and go. I can never stay at these things.” She hugs Abby, Kelly-Rae, and Patrick before heading off to the funeral home.

“Duncs, are you gonna…” Sharpy starts, but Duncan is already heading towards Brent. “Oh look, look, look!" he says, watching Duncan scream unintelligibly. Duncan gives Brent’s chest a shove, but when Seabs reels back to hit him, Keith grabs his shirt. It’s a threatening altercation, Patrick thinks, but Seabs needs that. Because he immediately puts his fist down.

Madelyn who had been clutching to Abby’s leg during the screaming, tugs on her father’s sleeve. “Daddy, you guys were using bad words,” she says, eyes disapproving. “You owe me one moneys, Auntie Day owes me one moneys, and Uncle Duncan owes me two moneys.”

Sharpy ruffles her hair. “Good girl. Tell you what, Daddy will pay Auntie Dayna’s money this time. She’s having a hard time right now.”

“Is Uncle Duncan still pay?”

Sharpy nods and grabs her hand tightly. They start walking toward the door, saying, “Come on guys, we don’t want to be late to the party.”

Patrick has to be led by Abby, otherwise he knows he’d never have the strength to come in. The room is filled with blue flowers (Jonny’s favorite color) and is filled to the brim with his family and friends. The deep silver coffin stands at the front of the room with a picture of Jonny. And, of course, his jersey.

He tries his hardest to keep it together when he gets a better look at the picture. There Jonny is in all his glory, cheesy grin plastered across his face. He’s in full uniform on the ice, leaned lazily against his stick. Patrick remembers the picture being taken by Andrée, a month before the playoffs. Patrick gave him shit for weeks for posing for his mom, but secretly kept the copy she sent him in his wallet.

But, there it was, blown up for everyone to see instead of staying close to him. Abby gently pushes him into a seat and sits next to him. “I have tissues in my purse if you need them,” she whispers, holding Sadie close.

Maddie scrambles over her mother’s feet and climbs into Patrick’s lap. “I sit with you, Uncle Peeks,” she says, rubbing his knee gently. He settles her into his body and lets her stroke his cheek lovingly. “Saying goodbye hard, Uncle Peeks. But you do good.”

Pat sniffs hard and watches Andrée walk up to the microphone. Her eyes are bloodshot with tears and she has seemed to age 10 years in 3 days. Her accent is thicker than he remembers it being when she says, “Thank you all for coming today during such a…” She bites back a cry. “…difficult time. I know Jonathan is watching down and is glad to see so many familiar faces. I know I and my husband are.”

She looks back at her son’s open coffin for a second before murmuring, “He was always such a happy child. So serious about everything he did, but he always did it with joy and love.” She stop, looking down at the floor. “I talked with him the night he passed and I remember him reassuring me about his hit, ‘ _Maman, ces choses se produisent._ ’ He told me, ‘Maman, these things happen.’”

Patrick remembers Jonny whispering it into the phone from the other side of the bathroom door. “And, yes, these things do happen, but you’re never prepared to bury your child.” Andrée is fighting tears harder than ever. She’s done well but Pat knows that everyone has their breaking point. “I see him laying there, and all I see is my boy who could climb trees but couldn’t climb down, who at age 7 got so angry about losing that he cried, who hated storms and would crawl into our bed the moment the rain started.”

“And though it is hard to know I will never hear his laugh or see his smile again, he died doing what he loved. Hockey brought him peace he never found anywhere else, and now it will be a part of him forever,” Andrée finishes, body shaking. She turns to run a hand down Jonathan’s cheek and it is so quiet in the room that everyone can hear her say, “Adieu, mon fils doux.”

Sharp leans over to Corey, who had sat next to him, and whispers, “What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Farewell, my sweet son.’”

Abby carefully holds out a tissue but Patrick can’t make his arms move to grab it. He’s not even sure if there are tears rolling down his face, but there must be, the way Abby is looking at him. Maddie grabs it from her mother for safe keeping, looking back at him. Her tiny, worried expression is heartbreaking and it only makes Patrick feel worse. She reaches out a small hand and wraps it around his.

Andrée steps down and sits back down in between her husband and her son. Coach Q hesitates for a second before finally going up to the mic. “Well, I don’t know how to follow that, so…” he says, trying to chuckle, but it doesn’t happen. “If any of you don’t know, I was Jonathan’s coach. I didn’t know Jonny the longest, and I didn’t care about him the most, and I’m not going to pretend I did. But I did love Jonathan like a son, even if he wasn’t.” Lines trace his face like scars and Andrée isn’t the only one who has seen the horrors of grief.

“I first met Jonny when he was a snaggletooth little eighteen year old kid with big ambitions but a humble heart. He could shoot just as well as any of the veterans on the team, but you couldn’t get him to list 4 things he was good at. It was amazing to watch him grow from a good player to a truly great player,” Q says, scanning the crowd.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and sighs. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what could have been if he had 10 more years under his career. All those seasons he could’ve topped. All the times he could’ve won the Cup again. He could’ve gone down in history as one of the best players in hockey. And he was robbed of it all.But, in a way, this isn’t the time to remember his death. This a remembrance of life and I want people to remember Jonathan for all the right things, his work ethic, his skills, instead of the tragedy that ended his career.”

“I’m sure everyone here has a fond memories of Jonathan, and I just want everyone to take a second and think about those, because that’s what today should be about.” Q bows his head and everyone follows suit. Patrick can’t look away from the coffin during the silence.

He doesn’t want to imagine what Jonny looks like lying there. His face done up with makeup to counteract the death sunken into his body. Whatever favorite suit they had picked out pressed to the nines and tucked tightly into the white coffin lining. Patrick’s not sure which one they picked out, but he hopes it was the plaid shirt and plaid tie combo that Patrick made fun of Jonny for for weeks after he showed up at the ring ceremony in that getup. Not that he could talk though, he hated having his suits fitted and had to deal with the consequences from the guys.

But Jonathan always looked better than him and Patrick honestly didn’t care. He loved seeing the strong, sharp lines created by his suits. He loved seeing Jonny fiddle with his tie, or cufflinks if they were somewhere special, even if he would have to nudge him and tell him to stop fidgeting.

Those days were over now. There was nothing more to do than straighten his tie if it wasn’t done already, smooth his hand of Jonny’s lapel one more time, and say goodbye.

He’s jerked out of his thoughts as Q says, “I’m not sure what memory everyone thought of, but I’ll share mine. After we won in 2010, it was crazy. We had an extremely young team and the boys loved to celebrate. So, while everyone’s off celebrating, Toews comes up to me and whispers, eyes shining, ‘They did it, Coach! It doesn’t seem real!’ And I had to remind him that he was a part of it, and he would be for a long time. This was only his first cup. And he turned around and screamed to everyone, ‘I want to do this every year!’ Probably with some expletive in there, of course.”

Q laughs a little and finishes with, “That was when I knew he would go on to great things. And he did. It wasn’t a 20 year career, but he won the Cup twice in 3 years and was a better player than a lot of us could hope to be in his short life. Some people never achieve that. It wasn’t a waste, but it still makes us think, ‘What if?’”

The silence is earsplitting as Q steps down and everyone waits to see who’s next. Couldn’t be Seabs, he’s too busy raging inside to say anything nice, or at all for that matter. It could be David, but Pat’s not sure he would want to limelight. He scans the crowd slowly until someone in a dark grey shirt stands up.

Oh. _T.J._

Patrick is both a little surprised that he’s up there and a little disappointed that they couldn’t get someone else. T.J. was one of Jonathan’s best friends since their time during college hockey, but Patrick could've never guessed with the way T.J. treated him when Jonny wasn’t around. Okay, so Patrick wasn’t a saint, but he was still a pretty likable guy. And T.J. hated him. He thought Patrick was an arrogant little show off who didn’t do anything for his team, or Jonny for that matter.

He still remembers overhearing T.J. and Jonny’s conversation about a year or so after he and Jonny got together. He clearly remembers Jonny reassuring T.J. that Pat wasn’t using him and that the relationship was serious.

After that, T.J. played good face, but whenever they were alone together, all bets were off. There were snide comments, cheap shots, pointless fights, and reminders that Jonny was too good for him. It culminated into a screaming phone match after the Madison incident, in which T.J. demanded that Patrick break up with Jonny to spare him any more heartbreak. But Pat wasn’t going to throw away four years of love just because he fucked up.

And then that was it. T.J. said fine, but he wasn’t going to be around to pick up the pieces when Patrick ruined Jonny’s life. And then he hung up. It took until they won the Cup again to get T.J. to talk to Jonny. And, even then, the friendship was strained. So he’s pretty sure T.J.’s speech is going to be full of passive aggressive digs.

But Patrick is a little surprised when T.J. steps up, eyes red and glassy, face splotchy with tears. He sniffs slightly before stepping up to the microphone. “Hello everyone, my name’s T.J. and I was one of Jonathan’s college teammates when we played for Sioux Falls. I was 20 and he was 18 but he acted like a 30 year old man. He took responsibility any chance he got and even when nobody asked him to. He’s one of those guys that gets better when the stakes get higher. He’s got a big heart and I always wanted to protect him, because he was too trusting.” He catches Patrick’s eyes and hesitates for a second. T.J. looks down at the floor muttering, “Or so I thought. But Jonny was always right. He sees the best in everyone and still sees it when they screw up. Even if it ends up hurting him.”

Patrick’s head is pounding, red hot, against the back of his head. “I sometimes didn’t agree with everyone he hung out with, or whoever he was seeing, but I eventually learned that Jonny knows what’s he’s doing. Because every time things fell apart for anyone, he would be the one to fix it.”

T.J. scratches the back of his neck and says, “I know this is generally public knowledge, but when Jonny and I were playing together, we were arrested in some stupid town up in North Dakota. We were stupid after celebrating a win and we winded up in the back of a police car together. I was like a scared little kid who had never gotten in trouble before. And neither had Jonny but he was in control the whole time. He reassured me that we would be fine. He told me, ’T.J., don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’”

“And he did. We got probation and community service. He knew he screwed up but immediately tried to make good with the people he felt he let down.”

T.J. puts a gentle hand on the foot of Jonny’s coffin. His fingers twitch with sadness. A tear leaks down his face as he chokes out, “I used to think that after the funeral was when someone really felt gone. But the moment I saw the news, it felt like someone had drilled a piece of my heart straight out of my chest. We were all a part of Jonny, and Jonny was a part of all of us. He’s like a phantom limb that amputees have. We know in our heads that he’s not here, but he still feels like he’s home in our hearts.”

There are more than a few tears in the room and Patrick knows that he has his fair share. It was better than he thought, and he has to pull his resentment for T.J. down into his body. Jonny would’ve loved it and that’s all that matters.

Patrick is a little confused when Crow stands up, slipping into the aisle. And he’s actually shocked when he takes the empty space in front of the microphone. Corey was never one that could hide his emotions, good or bad, and this time was no different. The guilt and anger sat barely under the surface of his skin, curdling any feeling he had left.

“Hello everyone, I just want to repeat what Andrée said and thank you all for coming today. I know Jonny’s family really appreciates it and I know Jonny would too. I’m Corey, if any of you haven’t met me before, and I was one of Tazer’s teammates. I was his goalie.” He pauses, pulling the rising anger and disgust at the situation back down. “And I say his goalie, because the Blackhawks were my first NHL team and Jonny was the first captain that really made an impact on me.”

A smile pulls at his reminiscing face. “And Jonny was there from day one. First person to show up, last person to leave. That was the kind of guy he was. He cared more about this team than any of us ever did or ever will. He was the driving force that brought glory back to Chicago, but never wanted any of us to feel the weight on his shoulders.”

“He always talked about how much the city depended on us and vice versa. We all mourned losses and we all celebrated wins. Standing on the ice with the Cup in the air, hearing your fans scream for you, it can make you feel like you’re on top of the world. But Jonny was always the one to remind everyone that it was more than just about us. We did this for the fans, for everyone involved, and for Chicago.”

His brow furrows. Patrick sees the anger flood over him like a hurricane. Corey’s body shakes and his voice is angry as he says, “But all of it feels like a waste. Here we are, fresh out of a Cup win last season and we have nothing. None of it matters. Everybody always says they’d die for their captain, but what did Jonny die for? Because it sure wasn’t us. Can’t be for glory, because we have no glory without Jonny. We’re out here trying to honor his legacy while at the same time trying to fix a faulty foundation with matchsticks. It’s bullshit.”

Patrick watches Bryan start to get up to halt Corey’s speech, but Andrée puts a hand on her husband’s shoulder to stop him.

Corey clenches his eyes shut and murmurs, “I’m sorry, everyone. It’s just… Everybody wishes that this hadn’t happened to Jonny. At least not him. I would rather be the one dead than have to bury one of our best friends. And I know it’s not going to bring him back but it helps us think we have some control over this situation.”

He pauses for a second before looking up to the rafters of the funeral home. “Jonny, if you’re up there… just know that we miss you, man. You’ll always be our captain.” He raises a fist in remembrance and steps down, wiping his eyes.

Maddie turns around and wipes Patrick’s face with the tissue. “It okay, just Daddy left.”

And, sure enough, Sharpy does stand up, slipping in front of Patrick and Abby, giving Maddie a high five on the way out. Patrick watches his confident steps lead to the microphone, his favorite place. If he wasn’t in front of a camera, he was in front of a microphone. Sharp was a confident person, even through the hardships and that was one of the biggest things Patrick looked up to him for.

Sharp cracks a grin and says, “Hello, my name’s Patrick and I’m an alcoholic.” There are a couple chuckles and Pat swears his hears Jonny’s guffaw somewhere in the back. Sharp looks around and says, “Oh, right, wrong function.”

Everybody relaxes a little. “But, seriously, my name is Patrick but you guys can call me Sharpy. I was also one of Jonny’s teammates and was probably the main cause of stress and rage in his life.”

“Everybody always called him ‘Captain Serious’ because he was so intense about everything. He would bike like he was pulling a rickshaw of orphans away from a burning building. He would lift weights like he was trying to lift cars off little old ladies. He even played hockey like it was his first game of the NHL and he had everything to prove all over again.”

Sharpy pauses, smiling gently at Patrick for a second. “But the thing I was always impressed the most by, with Jonathan, was his heart. He loved like it was his last day on earth. He loved his family, he loved who he was dating, he loved this city, he loved this team, and, most of all, he loved hockey. I kind of feel like, he had to pick a way to go out early, it would have been in a game.”

The glint leaves his eyes for a second. Sharp’s voice catches a little. “He wanted a family though. He was here when mine and almost all of the kids on the team were born. And he loved them all. Jonny was a family man through and through.”

“And sometimes, when you’re a single guy on a team, and you’re away from your family, the team steps in. And suddenly you find yourself with more brothers than you might’ve wanted.” Everybody chuckles this time. “And you end up with father figures to make sure you know what you’re doing, and to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. And some of them give you better advice than others.”

“One time, Crow was out with an injury and Raanta had to step in for him. The kid was nervous about being put on the spot and I remember Duncan telling him, ‘It’s better to live one day as a lion than a thousand years as a lamb.’ And that seemed to kind of stick with us. After we won the Cup this past year, the entirety of Chicago lived as lions with us for a day. I’ve heard more men roar in my time of being here than I would have anywhere else.”

He pauses, and looks to the heavens. “We have all lived as lions for a day, but Jonny outdid us all. He lived as one for the eight years he spent here. It was in his blood and it was in his soul. He was truly lionhearted.”

Patrick watches Sharp’s relaxed demeanor turn powerful as he says, “And we will not sit back and wallow in sorrow. Our days are too short to be spent grieving. A life spent in sadness is a live unlived.” Sharp looks around at the amassed crowd. “You all know Jonny as well as I do. He wouldn’t want tears. After a bad game he would never dwell. He wouldn’t pick apart what went wrong or why it happened. He would want to start working on doing better, fighting harder, and putting in more effort than before. And that’s what we should all be doing now.”

“Yes, Jonathan is gone, and, yes, that hole will never be filled, but we shouldn’t dwell on it. Tazer lived life to the fullest and now it’s our job to pick up his slack.” Sharpy steps down and relaxes once more, saying with a smile, “After all, I don’t want Jonny coming to haunt me because I’m not working hard enough. But that’s just me.” There are more chuckles than the beginning, which is good. At least everyone is relaxing a little, but not Patrick. it wasn’t going to be as easy as Sharpy said it should be. Losing someone you love is never easy, but having them violently ripped from you is even harder.

He’s ripped from his thoughts when Bryan stands up and says, “I think that will be it for this part. There will be food downstairs for an hour before we will be moving on to the cemetery. My wife and I will be around and Jonathan’s coffin will be open for viewing for 45 minutes. Thank you.” He says it so stoically that Patrick wonders how hard he’s actually taking this.

But the horrors of losing a child is still present in Bryan’s eyes and Patrick knows that he’s put up so much of a wall in the past three days that it’s starting to crack under its own weight. Patrick knows because that’s what he’s feeling now. His mind has always raced at a million miles a minute, between hockey and his family and himself and his team and everything else that built him. Jonny was always there to slow him down, even if he could never get it to a full stop. But, now that Jonny was gone, it was still running full force. Every single memory, every single thought, even single second Patrick had lived with Jonathan was plowing through his brain at once.

His body shakes and he can feel his eyes going everywhere, his brain trying to read and place each thought simultaneously.

 _“You’ve still got an entire universe up there, don’t you?”_ he hears, whispered in his ear in the soft rumble that Jonathan always seemed to manage. Patrick’s eyes stop and he spins around. Just as quick as it came, the shadow of Jonathan’s voice flickers back into the crowd.

“Patrick? What are you looking for?” Abby asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. Who. Who he’s looking for is the correct question with an unanswerable finish. Who he’s looking for is laying in the coffin in front of him yet still seems to be everywhere at once.

Maddie pulls on Abby’s leg. “Mama, I needs my presents to Uncle Jonny nows!” Abby sighs and pulls some folded paper and a small handful of crayons, handing them to her daughter. She shifts Sadie from one arm to another. “Come on Mama, come on Daddy! Uncle Peeks, you come?” she asks, motioning to her parents and Patrick. Sharpy takes her hand and lets her lead him to the coffin.

Patrick hangs back a couple feet with Abby as they watch Maddie lift her arms up. Sharp takes a deep breath before picking her up. Maddie puts her hands on the side of the coffin and peers in. Her small head tilts for a second before she reaches in to tuck the paper and crayons into Jonathan’s suit pocket. “There go, Uncle Jonny. Now since you can’t see us no more, you have stuffs to do.” She bends down and kisses his nose. “I misses you and loves you, Uncle Jonny.”

Abby leans over and says quietly, “It breaks my heart that all she’ll know of him is through videos and pictures. He loved her so much and she’s too little to remember him.”

Patrick’s brain is pounding as Crow nudges them, saying, “We should go say goodbye to Tazer one last time.”

They make their way over to the coffin as Sharp leaves, bleary eyed for the first time since Jonny had died. Abby is just about to open her mouth and comment when Sharpy pulls it back in and replaces it with the smile he constantly had. “I’l wait back here while you guys go up.”

The line has grown and it’s about a two minute wait before they actually make it to Jonny. And nothing could prepare Patrick for the sight in front of him. There was Jonny, hair trimmed neatly, eyes closed in peace, his hockey stick laid neatly alongside his body. Anybody that said people look like they’re sleeping after they died, were liars. Jonny didn’t look asleep, just very dead.

Patrick’s hands shake violently and uncontrollably as he reaches out and straightens the ever so crooked tie. He smoothes the dark blue jacket over Jonny’s chest as he had done hundreds of times before. His brain is screaming like a siren as his hand lingers over Jonathan’s cold, empty chest.

“Steady there, Patrick,” Corey says quietly, putting a hand between his shoulder blades to keep him upright. His chest feels tight and he’s pretty sure he’s going to pass out when he hears a familiar voice behind him.

“Patrick!”

He turns his head to see his mom, standing there with his sisters, all in various states of disarray. Patrick stumbles over and collapses into his mother’s arms. She works to hold him up in her small frame. “We had to find out from the news, Patrick,” she says, voice angry even though she holds him tight. “I called day and night and you never picked up.” Patrick can’t hold back the sobs as he breaks down in his mom’s arms. She and his dad had done so much for him over the years, both financially and emotionally, but this is something even a mother’s love couldn’t fix.

He hears Erica say, “Mom, here comes Andrée.”

Patrick detaches and just feels his body sink with desperation. He has so much he wants to say to her. _‘Maman, I’m sorry. Maman, please don’t cry. Maman, I miss him too,’_ but nothing comes out. Instead, he just looks at her helplessly. And Andrée knows exactly what he’s thinking, always has, as she pulls him in close, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

She lets him go before saying, “Thank you for coming, Donna. It means a lot that you and the girls came. Is Pat okay?”

Donna nods murmuring, “He couldn’t get work off since it wasn’t a family death. Even though it was.” She hugs Andrée tight. “How are you doing? Do you need anything?”

Andrée sighs, saying, “It’s so hard that I keep pretending it’s not real. But having the funeral will help get some things over before we have to go any further with the lawsuit. I just want to put this all behind us.” She wipes her eyes with her fingers as Donna rubs her arm soothingly.

Jacqueline nudges her brother’s hand with hers and mutters, “I missed you, Patrick. We all did. I’m sorry this our first visit in a while had to be like this.” She squeezes him gently. He looks helplessly at his baby sister, trying hard to keep it as together as he possibly could, for her sake at least. But she sees right through him. He had called her right before Madison, brain in a haze, and she had told him that he was scaring her and to go straight to Jonny’s because she knew something bad was going to happen. And she was right. So when she gives him the all knowing look, all he can do is giver her hand a squeeze back. Nothing else could go wrong now.

Corey rejoins the group by his side and gives Andrée a big embrace. “My condolences, Andrée. I’m sorry my speech may have gone over the line.”

Andrée shakes her head, saying, “Absolutely not, Corey. You said powerful things all of us were feeling. No need to apologize for saying the truth.”

She looks around. “Did everybody show up from the team?”

“I think so,” Corey says, scanning the room. “I saw everybody but Shaw.”

“Speak of the devil…” Sharp says, carrying Maddie on his shoulders, Shaw following close behind. Patrick notices the heavy limp he’s got, and the slightly pained expression while walking, but at least he’s up and moving.

“Bryan and I have missed watching you play, Andrew,” Andrée says, hugging him. “Jonathan told me you were injured not long ago. How has your leg been doing?” She catches herself rambling a little and softens. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Shaw smiles gently at her, saying, “I’m glad we could make it.” He pulls Chaunette from his side. “Mrs. Gilbert, this is my wife, Chaunette.” Everyone’s heads shoot up and faces turn on him in surprise and shock.

 _“Wife?!”_ Crow splutters.

Shaw punches him in the arm, leaning in to whisper, “Not right now… I’ll explain everything downstairs. It’s not that exciting.”

Chaunette has tears in her eyes when she shakes Andrée’s hand. “It’s good to finally meet you. I just wish it was under better circumstances. Jonny talked a lot about you. All good things of course.” That sets off Andrée’s tears once more as she gives Chaunette a hug. Patrick is quiet enough to hear Chaunette whisper, “I miss him too.”

“Thank you all for coming, truly,” Andrée says quietly, looking around at them. Patrick can feel her eyes burning into his soul when she glances at him. “Jonathan would be glad to see everyone here. It’s good to know how loved he was.”

“Mrs. G!” Everybody turns to see Bryan standing there, Amanda close by his side. He wraps his long arms around the older woman, enveloping her in his large body. She seems so tiny, diminished by his huge frame, but hugs him all the same. Bryan smoothes her hair, murmuring, “I’m so sorry Mrs. G. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, just let me know.”

“You’re sweet, Bryan, really. But you and Amanda have enough to worry about without worry about me,” Andrée says, smiling tiredly at him. She turns to Amanda. “You look radiant, sweetheart. Truly, you’re absolutely glowing.”

Amanda shifts her weight back to her heels, accommodating for her growing stomach. She forces a sad smile, saying, “Thank you, Andrée. I feel like I’ve been pregnant forever but I still have so long to go. Baby Bicks is definitely ready to come out.”

Tears form in Andrée’s eyes as she chokes out, “Enjoy it while it lasts. Parenthood is taken for granted so much…” She chokes back a sob, saying, “I’m sorry, excuse me.” She hurries off, hand over her mouth.

Patrick wants to go over and console her, but his mom steps in, saying, “I’ll take care of this; come on girls.” She takes his sisters hands, leaving him alone and surrounded by people.

Amanda wipes her eyes and looks at her husband guiltily, saying, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Chaunette puts an arm around her friend, consoling, “It wasn’t your fault, she’s dealing with a lot right now. Anyone would have been set off.”

“Hey Chau, you know what might help cheer Amanda up?” Chaunette gives Corey a look as he says it, already knowing what he’s going to say next. She shakes her head but he still gives Shaw a grin before saying, “Telling her that you’re a fellow married woman.”

“What?!” Amanda turns on her, eyes going wide and excited. “You guys got _married_?!”

Shaw punches Crow in the arm again and says, “I’m not doing this right now.”

Sharpy grabs his wrist to keep him in the group, “Come on, then let’s go downstairs. Everybody wants to hear the story about you guys getting hitched!”

Patrick would rather stay up here, but ends up being dragged downstairs by Bicks, the girls chattering excitedly. There are probably fifty or so tables set up with chairs, as well as the most generic funeral food ever set up on a table in the front. There was an expense that wasn’t splurged on. Nobody really wanted to eat anyway; barely any of the food had been picked over.

As Patrick sits down numbly at one of the tables, he watches Chaunette kiss Shaw on the cheek and wander off to talk to Abby and Amanda. Bryan immediately corners Shawzy, saying, “Okay, what’s all this about you being married? What the hell, Shawzer?” There’s both a glint of excitement in his eyes, but also the pissed off look of someone who did not like secrets being kept from him.

Andrew pushes him off and slumps down in the chair next to Patrick. “You guys don’t get it,” he says, small and not like his usual loud self. “After we got the call that Jonny died, I kinda panicked. After getting hurt and Jonny getting hurt, I didn’t want anything to happen to me and have Chau with nothing. I’m always getting into fights. Who knows when something bad could happen? So we eloped. Got married. Wrote a living will. She gets almost everything now if anything happens to me.”

Crow leans against the table, muttering quietly, “Still man, you should’ve told us. We could’ve used a bit of happiness around here. Everybody’s been miserable.”

“I didn’t want to take away from Jonny. That’s the most important thing right now. Me getting married isn’t.”

Patrick drowns out the inane chatter of his friends until Sharpy nudges him, asking, “Forgot to ask, but how’s Juliette doing? Who’s watching her now? Jonny’s neighbor still?” His brain freezes. Shit. Juliette. He forgot all about her. Jonny had brought her home right after his photo shoot for Bickell’s calendar and Patrick had absolutely fallen in love with her. She stayed with Jonny’s neighbor during road games, but he’s not sure what happened since the news of Jonathan’s death went public.

He looks around frantically, trying to decipher what to do, or if he should go to Katrina’s apartment and check on her, when Bicks steps in, saying, “Don’t worry, we’ve got her Kaner. Amanda called Katrina and picked her up after I told her the news. I know you were hanging with Jonny a lot and basically took care of her too, so whenever you feel ready to come get her, you can.” Tears of relief pool in Patrick’s eyes. “Don’t worry, she’s okay,” Bicks says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Though I think she knows something’s up when Tazer didn’t come home.”

A lump forms in Patrick’s throat as he looks up at the older man with gratitude. He was so caught up in his own misery that he had forgotten all about their dog. Poor Juliette. Although she knew the Bickells well, she was happiest around him and Jonny. What was she going to do now that Jonny was…

His stomach flips and the room blurs. Patrick has to cover his mouth to keep from hurling on the table. “Kaner, you okay?” Sharp asks, half picking at a plate of food that Maddie had placed in front of him. When Patrick doesn’t answer him, only turning paler and paler, he grabs Pat’s arm and says to the table, “We’ll be right back.”

Patrick’s head feels like cement as Sharpy drags him to the bathroom. By the time they get through the doors, he barely has enough time to get down on his knees before heaving a harsh mixture of stomach acid and juice into the toilet. It feels like pins and needles shooting through his abdomen.

“Jesus, Peeks,” Sharpy says, filling a cup with water from the sink. “You haven’t eaten anything in days. How are you even throwing up?” Patrick looks dully at him, paper thin skin seeming to hang off his body like an oversized coat. There’s the same worried look in the older man’s eyes that was in his mother’s eyes, but there’s still the misunderstanding. The confusion that everyone but his family has. Yes, he was an open book, but there were passages that tended to be in a completely different language. He was always glad Jonny had years to decipher it, because he was one of the few people on the team to really get him.

Reaching out for the glass of water, Patrick takes it, sipping gingerly. Pushing himself up and heading for the door, he ignores Sharp’s “Are you sure you want to go back out?”

He goes back to the table and tries to ignore all the stares of his teammates. Patrick knows exactly what everyone is thinking. “You look like shit.” And he feels it too. He feels sallow and stretched. Emaciated and bloated. Stiff and falling apart. He’s built a body of contradictions, holding back any semblance of an actual existence.

Saad comes down the stares, calling out, “Everyone’s getting ready to leave.” Crow and Bicks head up the stairs first, having to be pallbearers. For once, Patrick’s glad Corey stepped in for him. He wouldn’t be able to do it. He makes his way upstairs as they’re beginning to walk Jonathan out. David and T.J. are in the front, both trying to hold back tears. Behind them are Bryan and Corey, looking strong, but overwhelmed. And finally, there’s Duncan and Seabs. Patrick notices the fresh red mark on Duncan’s cheek and the faint split in Brent’s lip. There must’ve been a scuffle beyond the parking lot. Either way, they supported both Jonny and each other so stoically that they reminded Patrick of statues.

There’s a pit of despair burning a hole in his stomach as Jonathan’s casket comes by him. Patrick’s lungs don’t seem to function the way they should, breath stolen inside the grey metal. In a perfect world, his air would’ve seeped into Jonny’s blood, pumping it through his body and out of the pools in his broken brain. But this was not a perfect world, because all the lack of oxygen did was kill the remaining hope in Patrick’s body and send Jonny’s down in a funeral procession.

Everyone around him bows their heads in silence, but Patrick can’t take his eyes off the coffin. He knows how he must look, eyes dead, heavy bags under his eyes, skin so mottled he looks like a corpse himself. He looks manic and insane and like he’s going to collapse, all at the same time. Half of himself is leaving in that coffin and most are none the wiser.

As the procession heads through the church doors, Patrick jumps a little when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Looking over, he sees Jessica standing there with a soft smile. “Are you going to ride with Sharp? Mom wants to know if you want to come to the cemetery with us?” Everything she says comes out hesitant, like she’s not sure if Patrick actually wants her to talk to him.

He reaches out and squeezes her hand tightly, nodding. The least he could do is ride with his mom and sisters. Jess looks at him carefully, eyebrows furrowing with worry. “I’ll go talk to Sharpy, then,” she says quietly, hugging him tight. Her warm embrace is sorely needed as Patrick lets her body meld with his. “Meet us out the front doors in about ten minutes, okay?” Patrick nods again, reluctant to let go.

He catches a glimpse of Jessica talking quietly with Sharpy and Abby a few minutes later, their daughters in their arms. Patrick uses the moment to escape through the crowd. They’re closing the hearse doors as he makes his way into the dreary weather.

It’s a couple more minutes before his sisters and mom come out, flowing through the sea of people. And, thankfully, they don’t say anything, his mom just putting her arm around him to lead him to the car. He gets stuffed in the passenger’s seat as always, with his sisters lined up in the back. When he catches a glimpse of them in the backseat, he almost doesn’t recognize them. Yes, he sees them as much as he can, but he forgot when they grew up. There were his kid sisters, crammed into the back just like when they were kids, now all out of their teens and grown into women now. They were likely going to get married, have their own families, but all Patrick can see is their smaller selves, still bright eyed with wide smiles, and wishes he could go back to that. Back to when they were all happy.

His mom notices his intense staring and wraps her hand around his, taking a moment to glance away from the road and over at her son. “You’re doing fine, Pat,” she whispers quietly. It’s so silent in there that the words echo like church bells. “It’s almost over.”

Patrick wishes to god it was, yet the cemetery closes in forebodingly. The motorcade pulls through the winding path like a mechanical snake, eventually halting to a slow stop. There are flowers set up under a sunny spot on the hill, neighbored by a tall, strong oak tree. Patrick watches people exit their cars and begin the climb, but flinches when the back doors creak open.

“You coming bro?” Erica asks, beginning to make her way out of the car. His mom squeezes his hand, opening her door too. It had to be dealt with, as little as Patrick wanted to admit it.

The humidity has grown in the fifteen minute card ride, the dusty clouds in the distance growing dark. Patrick thinks it’s fitting that even the sky is in mourning. It hasn’t rained much in Chicago this spring, but this must have pushed the heavens over. Jackie seems to be thinking the same thing, because she comes up next to him, murmuring, “I hope this holds off. The last thing we need is everyone getting soaked.” He nods in agreement and lets his baby sister take his arm, leading him across the grass.

The open grave comes up quicker than he’d like it to, Jonathan’s coffin already sitting on the winch. Andrée, Bryan, and David are standing next to it, Andrée between her husband and remaining son. The closer he gets, the more he realizes that they’re in fact holding her up.

“Uncle Peeks!” he hears, called out behind him in a tiny voice. Turning, he sees through the crowd as Sharpy, Abby, and the girls make their way up the hill. Maddie breaks away from Sharp’s hand to come running at him. She loses her tiny footing halfway up and tumbles down a little. Sharpy rushes up to grab her hand, helping her to the top. “I misseded you!”

Sharpy rolls his eyes, looking at her lovingly. “He’s only been gone maybe half an hour.”

Maddie looks at him, confusion on her tiny face. “Have an hour?”

Ruffling her hair, Sharpy shakes his head. “Half an hour. Means not long. But yes, I missed him too,” he says, winking at Patrick. Any other time, Patrick would have punched him in the shoulder and made some off key joke. But those days were gone. He couldn’t smile and he couldn’t joke. He was a broken toy. Defective. Death had corrupted his brain like a computer virus. All he can do is stare back at Sharpy, eyes clouded.

“Come on guys,” Patrick hears a voice, probably Crow’s, murmur from the gathered crowd. “They’re going to start soon.”

Jackie holds him tight as the minister reads something about death not being the end, or some bullshit like that. If death wasn’t the end, it sure as hell felt like it. Patrick feels Sharp’s hand on his shoulder about halfway through, but can’t bring himself to look at the older man. All he sees is the silver metal glistening in the dim light, Jonny laying inside.

The words blur together and Patrick is so lost that he doesn’t even notice the coffin being lowered into the ground. He snaps out of his own mind when his mom comes over, asking, “How are you doing, honey?” Patrick looks at her blankly, eyes filling to their limits. His mind buzzes with the hushed conversations and then trickling of dirt as people drop handfuls into the grave. “Patrick…”

“Sorry to interrupt, Donna,” Saad says, approaching them quietly. “But the guys are giving Jonathan a final send off. I think Kaner should do it too.” His teammate questions him, gentle eyes searching for an answer. “One final roar. For Jonny.” Patrick watches Sharpy set Maddie down and kiss Abby before joining the team a few yards away. They’re all standing, staring, waiting for him. He’s the last one. He was the corner piece of the puzzle. Second to last, with the missing piece surrounded by earth. Jonny was the center, image shown but still incomplete without him.

Patrick lets out the breath he was holding for what seemed like an eternity and follows Brandon over to the team, all of them giving him feigned smiles. “Is everybody ready?” Bicks asks, looking around. Everybody nods and walks to the open grave. Patrick’s legs are shaking as he joins the circle around the coffin and drops to one knee, following everyone’s lead.

The grass is damp under his hands and knees and Patrick bows his head, tears adding to the wetness. He can hear Brandon’s steady, young breathing next to him. Patrick’s not sure when he himself stopped being able to breath like the athlete he is, but he’s thinking it might have been the same time Jonathan did.

The cemetery is silent, anyone gathered around has fallen silent, watching the team. Patrick counts the minutes in his head until he hears someone get up. It’s Brent. He watches the air rush into the older man’s chest and then race out as a deafening roar. He pushes himself up when the rest of the team rises as well, the powerful noise falling out of his lungs and mouth like bile, acrid and sour on his tongue. It’s a lion’s send off, but a goodbye all the same.

The noise echoes in the cemetery as the men fall silent. Patrick watches everyone drop handfuls of dirt into the grave. It was over. Jonny was buried.

The trees and headstones swirl around him and he has to blink a couple times to remember where he even is. “Woah there, kid,” Sharpy says, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “You did good. I’m proud of you. I know it’s hard.” Half of him wants to run, just run away from here and everyone while the other half of him wants to crawl into the grave and be blanketed here forever.

But he’s rooted in the spot, pulled to the center of the earth. He can’t even leave when he sees his mom and sisters approaching. Thankfully, Sharpy stays next to him, even when his mom says, “Are you ready to go? I packed some clothes from your condo last night. We’re heading back home tonight.” The panic sets in. He can’t go back to Buffalo. He can’t even go back to his own condo. Going back to his empty house, with a dresser drawer and half his closet full of Jonny’s clothes, or, worse, his parent’s house, seemed like hell.

Patrick looks at his family, then over to Sharpy, eyes desperate with fear. Sharpy instantly reads him, saying quietly, “Donna, I don’t think he can leave.”

She looks at him incredulously. “Patrick, don’t be ridiculous; you should come be with the girls, your dad, and me. You should come home.” That was the problem. Home had, over the years, turned into wherever Jonny was. Buffalo was always going to have a place in his heart, but this was home now.

His mom is about to open her mouth again when Erica interjects. “Mom, don’t force him to come. If he needs to be here, then let him stay.” She looks at Patrick, asking, “You have someone to stay with?” When he nods tinily, she says, “See Mom? I know you want him home. We all do. But you have to think about what’s best for Patrick.”

His mom’s mouth presses thin as she sighs, trying to hide the hurt. She closes her eyes for a second before wiping tears away, saying thickly, “I can’t make you come Pat, but if you need to stay here then please make sure you take care of yourself. I just want to know you’re going to be okay.” Her voice is trembling and Patrick feels the guilt barrel at him like a cannon. “And if you need us, I want you to come home, okay?”

Patrick nods and hugs his mom tight. It’s not that he wants her to leave. He just can’t leave here. And she should concentrate all her energy on his sisters. They loved Jonny as much as he did; they always said he was the nice brother they always wanted and loved having him around the house. They were going to miss him too.

It’s a tearful goodbye as his family leaves, his sisters clinging to him like it was the end of the world. He waves goodbye, arms heavy as they drive off, back to the hotel or airport, wherever their final destination was. Sharpy looks at him, false smile still implanted firmly on his face and asks, “Are you ready to go?”

The ride from the cemetery back to Sharpy’s house takes an eternity, with Sadie crying loudly in the backseat and Maddie getting more and more frustrated as the minutes go on. Abby does her best trying to settle her daughters, but Sharpy just lays a hand on her arm, saying, “It’s okay Abbs. We’re almost home. They’re just tired, it’s been a long day for everyone.”

Patrick catches Sharpy watching him carefully in the rearview mirror, eyes flicking from the road. He knows how bad he looks. Worse since leaving. The funeral was supposed to be a tremendous weight off his shoulders, but instead had sucked him dry, eaten away at his soul and left a shell. His hands won’t stop shaking and he barely has the energy to keep himself upright. He’s a walking disaster, waiting to be blown away by the slightest gust of wind.

He also catches the look Sharpy gives Abby before whispering in her ear. She gives him a serious look but just sighs when he raises an eyebrow at her. Patrick narrows his eyes at them, but they look away. Typical. Everyone was just avoiding him now.

Maddie falls asleep in a disgruntled rage, little fists balled up, head tucked in her chest. They pull up into the driveway as rain begins to slowly plop down. “Can you grab that bag, Pat?” Abby asks, getting Sadie out of her carseat. Patrick takes a second to process what she even asked before nodding and gripping the diaper bag tight. As he climbs out, though, his legs give way, leaving him with scraped knees as he hits the ground hard.

Sharpy rushes over, shifting the sleeping toddler into one arm and holds out his free hand, saying, “Come on, Peeks. Rain’s gonna start coming down hard.”

Even with his friend’s hand, he still struggles to get back on his feet. Everything takes so much effort. Effort that Patrick doesn’t have. He can barely get his feet to bring him into the house, thunder crackling in the distance. Abby and Sharpy have already gone upstairs, tucking their girls into bed, by the time he gets over the threshold. Patrick stands there, body melting, until Sharpy comes down the stairs, muttering, “Come on Peeks, you need something to drink. You look like death.” If only.

Patrick lets himself be moved from the entryway to the couch, a glass of milk getting pressed into his hand. He’s trembling so hard that Sharp eventually sits next to him, guiding his hand to his mouth. The milk tastes odd, like bitter chemicals. He manages to choke it down all the same though, Sharpy coaxing him gently, “Come on, Kaner. This will help.”

Almost as soon as the last of the liquid flows down his throat, the room begins to spin, the furniture blurring together. Patrick looks at Sharpy, confused, and doesn’t feel any relief when Sharpy says, “I’m sorry Peeks.” The entire world spins upside down this time and Patrick can’t stay on the couch anymore, stumbling wildly in unknown directions.

He lurches into Sharpy’s arms, legs giving way. The last thing he hears is someone whisper, _“It’s okay, mon amour. You’re okay,”_ in a voice that definitely isn’t Sharp’s, before his eyes fall closed.

_There’s some stupid action movie playing on the TV when Patrick hears a soft knock on his door. He opens it and there stands Jonny, still in his jeans and t-shirt, soft smile on his face. “I’m bored,” he says, walking in without an invitation. “What’re you watching?”_

_He rubs his eyes and mutters, “I don’t know, do you want to come in or something?” Jonny nods and sits down on the bed, right in Patrick’s warm spot. Pat grumbles a little, walking around the bed to get space. He flops back down on the bed and looks up at Jonny, asking, “Why didn’t you go bother Seabs or something? Why’d you come here?” Jonny’s shoes land with a soft thud as he kicks them off and onto the floor._

_“I don’t know,” Jonny mutters, still looking at the TV. “Wanted to come see you, I guess.”_

_Patrick’s heart flips in his chest. Jonny’s giving off so much body heat that he can feel it, even in the foot or so space between them._

_Jonny’s hands drop off his chest halfway through the movie to play with the sheets. Patrick watches intently until Jonny glances at him, giving him a small smile before turning to the TV once more. His chest is heaving and he’s surprised Jonathan can’t hear his heartbeat, because Patrick can hear it in his ears. Enough playing around, this was now or never. He drops his hand as well and rubs a thumb over the top of Jonny’s hand, slow, soft, and very much deliberate._

_He’s almost expecting Toews to pull his hand away and laugh at him, but he doesn’t. He just turns to Patrick, eyes dark and blown in the low light._

_And then it’s just like he’s 12 again. Patrick grabs Jonathan’s shirt and drags him in for a hard, messy kiss. It lasts for what feels like forever, but is probably only a couple seconds, before Jonny pulls away, wiping his mouth quickly with the back of his hand._

_“Oh,” Patrick breathes sadly. Jonathan’s gaze falls down to his lap, jaw clenching. “Maybe you should just go, then,” Patrick says bitterly. Jonathan hesitates for a second before flinging the sheets over on Patrick. He sits on the edge of the bed and Pat can see his shoulders tense up. “Tazer?” he asks quietly._

_Jonny doesn’t even look at him when he spits out, “No, you didn’t even have to ask. I want to go.”_

_Patrick watches Jonathan get his shoes, on, watches his fingers fly through tying the laces. He can see Jonny’s mind working as he stares at the floor. He wants to say something so bad, but knows nothing would make Jonathan stay now. Patrick sighs as the taller man stands up and starts walking toward the door. “Are we friends or are we more?” he whispers, voice still too loud in the quiet of his room._

_“I’m not sure.” Jonny’s head is bent. He chews his lip uneasily._

_“If you said you wanted to stay, you know, stay for the night, I’d change my mind,” Pat says, sitting up. He twists his hands in his sheets. The movie is still playing low behind them. It flashes cool blue light on the profile of Jonathan’s cheeks and jaws. “You know, about you leaving.”_

_Jonathan’s forehead wrinkles as he closes his eyes. “Patrick…”_

_“I don’t want to know while you’re walking away if you’ll be mine. So just stay,” he says, finally meeting Jonny’s eyes. The pits of brown that are staring at him are never ending. But they fill slowly with lust and frustration. And, still, Jonathan never says a word. The staring match ends with Jonny turning away, hand on the doorknob. Patrick looks down once more and slumps. “Fine, whatever.”_

_The door creaks open and silence falls. Patrick waits for steady footsteps leaving until he hear the quiet, “Je t'aime, Patrick.”_

_Patrick scrambles up out of his bed and to the door. But it wasn't fast enough. He flings the door open just in time to watch Jonathan close his. He's stopped caring that he's just in his shorts as he hurries across the hallway. "Tazer!" he calls, banging on his captain's door. There's no answer. "I know you're in there, Jonny. Please just open the door. I'm sorry."_

_Still, there is only silence. No locks opening, no footsteps, no anything. Patrick bangs one last time before shouting, "Fine, have it your way." He stalks across the hallway and back into his room. He grabs the closest thing he can reach, a water bottle, and chucks it. It hits the side of the bed and bounces back to hit him in the shin. "Fuck!" he cries, rubbing his leg. This wasn't how he expected this to go. He was expecting to be fast asleep with Jonathan in his arms, not standing here alone, bruised and broken hearted._

_He doesn't sleep at all that night. He tosses and turns, anger and spite building in his blood. He finally gets up at 6 am and throws a t-shirt on. Patrick doesn't even shower before heading across the hallway once more. He continues banging on the door until he hears a lock click. Jonathan's bed head makes him look more tired than he probably is. "What the fuck Patrick. I'm fucking sleeping," he says groggily._

_Patrick's not sure what comes over him, but his fist shoots out to try and catch Jonny off guard. It doesn't work, however, because even when he's just woken up, Jonathan has the reflexes of a cat. He grabs Patrick's fist mid-hit and flings him down into the carpet. "Stop it!" Patrick shouts at him, throwing a shirt at him._

_"Stop what? Stop keeping you from hitting me?" Jonathan says, throwing the shirt back at him. "You wake me up, try and deck me, and you expect me to just let you do it? You're crazy, Patrick." Patrick is worried about the seemingly disinterested and disgusted look on his face. There was time still to turn back and forget this and forget how he felt. But he knows that he wouldn't be able to let Jonny go. Not in a million years._

_"Tell me that I'm a fucked up mess," he says, staring Jonathan down. "Tell me I never listen. Tell me you need your distance."_

_Jonathan rolls his eyes and begins to turn away. "Why would I do that-"_

_"Tell me you don't want my kiss." Patricks on his feet now, body still slumped downheartedly. "Just tell me anything. It doesn't have to make sense. I just want to know why you're pushing me away. I'm not stupid, Jonny. I can see the way you look at me. You didn't want to leave last night, even if you said you did. I just want to know why you're so scared of falling in love." His head has rise to finally meet Jonny's eyes. Patrick can feels his heart start beating out of his chest. If he didn't know better, he would be sure he was going to pass out._

_Jonny stares back at him, eyes dark. "I can't tell you any of that because it wouldn't be true. But you don't understand what it's like," he says, sitting down on the bed, back to him. "I can't let myself love you because sooner or later, I'm going to lose you." Jonathan's shoulders tense up._

_"You're not going to lose me," Patrick starts. "I'm not-"_

_"Yeah, but what happens when you get traded, huh? Or I do? What happens if one of us goes halfway across the country? We can't make that work. I couldn't play against you." "You're not going to play against me because I'd never leave without you. I'd retire before I left you," Patrick says, sitting down next to him on the bed. He puts a hand on Jonathan's shoulder and has to stop himself from removing it when Jonny flinches. "I can promise you that."_

_"You say that now."_

_"And I'll say it again when we're old and retired, Tazer. I'd die before I left you.”_

Patrick wakes with a start, Jonny's name caught in his throat. His hands scramble around the sheet, feeling for his love who isn't there. All of it begins to flood back, the funeral, the gravesite, Jonny's death. He tries hitting the bed, screaming, but it comes out as silence, his voice becoming lost. The frustration finally overflows as tears as Patrick sinks back down into the bed.

He's not sure how he's going to live like this. He's not even sure he can, all alone in the world. Crow was right, they would have traded any of their lives for Jonathan's. And, more than ever, Patrick wishes he was in Jonny's place.

The wooden steps stick to his feet as he pads down to the ground level. He grabs Abby's car keys out off the bowl on the kitchen counter and heads toward the garage. The door beeps slightly when he opens it, so he slips in as quickly as possible. Abby's car is neater than Sharp's, but still has the burden of two car seats In the back. The steady ding of an open door sounds as he gets into the passenger's door. He sits there silently and starts the car.

Patrick’s fingers hover over the window button before pushing it slowly. It whirs softly in time with the fast thump-thump of his heart. He watches the exhaust clouds build in the garage. Minutes tick by on the clock and Patrick coughs heavily.

There’s a small buzzing white noise in the front of his brain that says, _“Stay awake.”_

The air grows thicker and thicker until Patrick leans his head against the dashboard and closes his eyes.

 _“Peeks!”_ he hears a voice call, far into the blindingly bright distance.

His body is jolted around until he feels the sharp scrape of cement and the heavy thumping of rain on his face. “Patrick, come on, wake up!” His chest heaves with fresh air as he dizzily opens his eyes. Sharp is kneeling over him, pale skin contrasting against wet hair and the dark sky.

The world slowly comes back to him as Patrick struggles to sit up. Sharp’s face is a mix of anger, disappointment, and relief. But before either of them could do or say anything, Sharp slaps him hard across the face. “How dare you!” he spits, having to be heard over the pouring rain, but not wanting to wake the neighbors. “You are damn lucky that I was the one that found you. You’re so _selfish_ , Patrick! What would we have done? Jonny’s dead already, you _can’t_ follow him.”

Selfish. Of course he was. That was the point of suicide. It was the coward’s way out. “Imagine if Abby had found you? Or _Maddie_?! Imagine if my baby girl had found her favorite uncle dead in her Mama’s car? She couldn’t get over that. She still comes into our bed crying because she wants me to stop playing hockey. She doesn’t want me to get hurt like Tazer. And she doesn’t want you to hurt either. She loves you. We all do.”

Patrick feels his body give way as he collapses into sobs on the pavement, letting his tears mix with the dirty water running into the gutters. Sooner or later, he’s going to run out of tears and his body is going to shrivel up into nothing, but it hasn’t happened yet, so he continues crying uncontrollably any chance he gets.

Sharp puts a hand on his back and says softly, “You’re lucky you don’t sleep. Maddie got up and noticed you weren’t rustling around in your room.” He helps Patrick up gently. “I won’t tell Abby or anyone if you can promise me you will never try shit like this again. Okay Kaner?”

He nods, desperation leaking from his body. Patrick’s not sure if he actually wanted to die, or if he just wanted to see Jonny again. He’s pretty sure it’s the second one.

“Come on, let’s get dried off.”

His hair is still dripping wet and he feels soaked down to his bones, no matter the dry clothes. He just sits on the couch, letting Sharpy bustle around, muttering, “Three in the fucking morning. I’m going to make some coffee.”

This is what his life was going to be like now. Patrick was going to sit there, letting the world go by around and without him, unable to do anything. He would give anything to go back a week ago, back before the accident, back before they had to play LA. Back before he had to lose Jonny.

Patrick just wants to go back.

After they sit silently at the dining room table, watching the sun rise through the window, Patrick retreats back into the world he’s built in the guest room. His duffel bag sits half open next to the bed, mouth gaping blankly. Digging around in it, Patrick pulls out the shirt Jonny had left. His phone drops to the floor, thumping softly.

Patrick stops a second, staring at it. He’s been so closed off, he didn't even think about his phone.

He plugs it in and waits for it to light up. It buzzes over and over, all his missed calls, texts, and emails finally come flooding in.

It’s been five days since Jonny’s death was publicly announced and he had over 500 missed texts and over 50 calls and voicemails. Most are broken hearted condolences from his friends and panicked messages from his family. But there are some that just hurt.

Clicking the earliest voicemail from his mom, he flinches at her tears. _“Pat, I got home and saw the news. This can’t be happening. Jonny’s not…”_ She breaks down into sobs again. _“Please. Please answer your phone.”_

There’s one from Segs with a quiet, _“Shit… Kaner. Jamie just told… Shit, this is fucked up.”_

The one from Jess is just unintelligible sobbing. He knows how much his sisters love Jonny. He was always around, from the time they were teenagers; Jonny watched them grow up just like him. He was there at family gatherings, holidays, even just stopping by when they played in Buffalo. His sisters loved Jonny just as much as he did, that much he was forgetting.

Patrick goes through all the voicemails, save one. And it’s the one he’s not sure he can listen to. Andrée’s.

Her voice is soft, trying to hold herself together as she says, _“Patrick, ce est ta Maman. I just… We’re taking Jonathan home to Chicago. If you…”_ She lets out a shaky breath. _“If you want to get a hold of us, please just call. We miss you. Love you, Patrick.”_

He remembers when he first felt part of their family. It was the first Thanksgiving after he and Jonny got together. They went up to Winnipeg to have dinner with Jonny’s family and Patrick was beyond nervous. He had gone over and over it in his head on the flight from Chicago, talking it over with Jonny. They had gotten in just as Andrée was in the middle of cooking. As Jonny got his coat off, Patrick had popped his head into the kitchen and said, “Maman, do you need any help with cooking?”

“No, Jonathan, I’m fi-“ She said, as she turned around. But once she realized who it was, realized it wasn’t her son, her mouth dropped open. She smiled wide, hand flying to her mouth, “You just called me…”

He nodded, grinning shyly. And, after that, he was her son just like Andrée was a second mother to him. 

But here he was, hidden away in Chicago while both of his families were hurting. Sharpy was right. He was selfish. He was selfish for thinking that he was the only one drowning in grief. Patrick may have lost the love of his life, but Bryan and Andrée had a lost a son.

It makes him homesick more than anything, as he sends quiet, _I love you. Miss you._ texts to his sisters and parents. Erica sends him one back almost immediately that says, _Miss you too. Hope everything’s going okay at Sharpy’s house. Love you Pat._ Patrick knows that, the moment this is over, he’s going home. He’s going home to Buffalo where he doesn’t have to worry about hiding from the press, hiding from his team, hiding from himself. He’s going to go home where he can just live.

Patrick spends the next hours absentmindedly texting his friends and family. Saad offers to take him out for lunch, but he has to decline; he’s still not ready to face anyone from his team again, especially so soon after the funeral. Bolly sends him some gibberish that may or may not be asking him to come share a bottle of whiskey with him.

He’s pretty sure that the door creaks open and closed halfway through the day, but if it’s Sharpy, he doesn’t bother him. Patrick’s pretty glad for the quiet day, just talking off and on with a couple people. He’s left alone, just watching the sun cross the sky.

~

It's Wednesday night and it’s been almost exactly a week since the Jonny died when Andrée emails him, the small ping echoing in the quiet of the Sharps’ spare bedroom. Patrick rolls over and opens the email.

_Mon très cher Patrick,_

_Bryan and I are flying back to Winnipeg tomorrow and we were wondering if you would like to come home with us? I know you’re still hurting but maybe some fresh air out of Chicago would help. We would love to help in any way possible. Let me know by tomorrow morning._

_All my love,_

_Maman_

He sits there, weighing his options. On one hand, he’s tired of imposing on Sharpy and his family, but on the other hand, he’s not sure if he could be wrapped up in all things Jonny for more than an hour. But he certainly can’t go back to his condo. He can’t sit there alone with his thoughts, left to dwell on everything he did wrong. And then, Patrick knows what he has to do.

Patrick wanders downstairs, peering into the living room. Sharp is stretched out on the couch, some sports talk show playing low on the TV. He watches the older man for a second, watches him stare blankly at the wall across from him, body sunk into the couch. His face was starting to take on the worn appearance that the rest of them had already succumbed to. Sharpy wasn’t invincible, Patrick knew that, but he’s surprised that it’s taken this long for him to join them.

Sharpy doesn’t even look up when Patrick gets down to the bottom of the stairs. “Hey Kaner,” he says flatly, reaching over to shut the TV off. “What’s up?”

Walking around to the front of the couch, Patrick sets his phone on Sharp’s chest. He picks it up and quickly reads the email. "Are you going to go?”

He can’t even meet his friends eyes when he shakes his head slowly. Patrick can’t be in Winnipeg. It was too much of a reminder of Jonny. Everything there had built the man he loved and everything here destroyed him. He has nowhere to go and nowhere he could stay.

“Kaner, I don’t know man, this could be good for you. I know you and Jonny were tight, and it seems like Andrée and Bryan need someone around the house. Maybe you should go. We’ll be okay without you for a week,” Sharp says, sitting up. He peers at Patrick intently. “Are you scared of leaving Chicago or are you scared of going to Winnipeg? Because usually you love going up north.”

Patrick sits down next to him and hangs his head. He still can’t find the words to make sense of it, or anything really.

Sharp puts a hand on his shoulder and says, “You need to go. Email her back and I’ll help you pack.” Sharp gets up as Patrick taps out a quick reply.

_Maman,_

_Thank you for this. It means a lot more than I can say right now. When do you need me at the airport?_

_Grosses bises,_

_Patrick_

He knows Jonathan gave him a lot of shit for his shitty French, but he picked up more than either of them would give him credit for. Patrick hated the language barrier, especially when Andrée spoke more French than English at home. And with them alternating family affairs, he knew he had to learn everything. It wasn’t fantastic and he certainly wasn’t fluent, but he could hold a simple conversation and understand a good 60% of what was said at his second home.

Patrick heads back upstairs to find Sharpy folding his clothing carefully in the spare bedroom. Sharpy looks up and says, “Once Maddie was born, Abby made me take a crash course in folding clothing since she couldn't be the only one doing laundry. It was a crazy 5 days, to say the least.”

He nods in thanks and sits back down on the bed. His body is sore and his mind is exhausted from not sleeping for almost an entire week. Patrick’s been living in a haze this whole time and he’s hoping he can leave that in Chicago.

“There you go, man,” Sharp says, sticking his last shirt in Patrick’s duffle bag. “You only have like, 4 things in here. Do you want to stop by your condo in the morning to get anything else? Or now, even?” Patrick shakes his head and Sharp rolls his eyes and mutters, “Okay, just make sure Andrée washes everything when you get there. Get some sleep, you’ll need it tomorrow.” Patrick nods and lays down but, when Sharpy turns the lights out, he tosses and turns until his phone lights up.

_Mon très cher Patrick,_

_We will be at the front desk for Delta at 9am tomorrow._

_À bientôt,_

_Maman_

The clock reads 1:08am and he has almost 6 hours before Sharpy gets up at 7am sharp per usual and asks when they need to leave. He could’ve picked up a hobby in all the sleepless nights he’s had since Jonny died, if he had any of the energy to do it. After another half hour of tossing and turning, he finally sits up and gets his shoes on.

The air is cool and humid the neighborhood is absolutely silent. It’s too early for the birds to start singing and nobody is out in the very suburban street. Patrick pulls his hood up on his sweatshirt and starts to walk around. He misses doing this with Jonny up in Winnipeg on bored nights during the offseason. Chicago was too busy and too sketchy to walk around alone at night like this, but this was far enough from the city to be safe.

He sits at the end of the cul-de-sac on the edge of the curb. He sits out there all night until the sky begins to lighten and the sun peeks over the trees and houses. Patrick gets up when the newspaper man drives around, tossing bundles out his car window.

Patrick tries to sneak back into the house as quietly as possible, but Abby is sitting at the dining room table, sipping on a cup of coffee. Her hair is up in a messy bun and her shoulders are slumped tiredly. She looks up when she hears him come and smiles. “Hey Patrick. Were you out all night?” He nods and sits down next to her. “Want some coffee?” He nods again and accepts the warm cup when she hands it to him.

Abby sits back down and says, “Do you want to tell me where you were?” Patrick just looks down at the table and runs his thumb over the lip of the cup. She sits back and says, “Okay, well I hope you figured out whatever you needed to before you head to Winnipeg.”

His head jerks up, eyes going wide. “Oh stop it, Patrick, do you really think I don’t know everything that’s going on in this household at any given point of time?” Abby says, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs blankly and takes a sip. It hits his stomach like a brick, since he hasn’t eaten anything solid since Jonny died, and barely anything other than water for drinks. But the coffee is strong and courses through his bloodstream, finally waking him up for what seems like forever. Patrick takes a bigger gulp and shudders, sighing at the little bit of feeling sparking in his body.

They sit in silence, just relaxing in the quiet early morning, until Maddie comes sliding down the stairs. “Mama!” she calls, thumping into the dining room. She crawls up into Abby’s lap and grabs her face. “Mama, I needs cereal.”

Abby laughs and stands up with her. “Come on then, what kind do you want?”

Madelyn taps her chin thoughtfully. “Floot Roots!” Abby pulls the box of Fruit Loops down and pours a small amount into the bowl. She sits Maddie down in her booster seat and puts the bowl in front of her. “Milk?” Maddie chirps, grabbing the spoon off the table.

“Do you want milk or do you want apple juice?”

The toddler thinks for a second. “Still milk, Mama!” She grins when Abby pours her a glass, then turns to Patrick. “Good morning, Uncle Peeks!” She holds out a little blue circle for him. “Wants one?”

Patrick shakes his head and gets up slowly to get a refill of coffee.

Sharpy comes bouncing down the stairs at 7:20am, saying, “Okay Peeks, when do Andrée and Bryan need you at the airport? I figured you would have gotten me up if it was earlier than this.” Patrick opens the last email from Andrée and hands him the phone. “Hmmm… 9. Okay, we better leave in an hour then. Don’t want to be the reason they leave you behind.” He looks at his wife. “Good morning, Abby, my love.” She gives him a skeptical look. “How would you like to make me some breakfast?”

Abby lets out a laugh and says, “I wouldn’t. But since I love you, not to mention the fact that I’m starving as well, I’ll make us something. Patrick, do you want some food?” She sighs when he shakes his head. “You know, you will eventually need to eat something. It’s been almost a week, Pat, your body will need something soon.” He shakes his head again. “Well okay then. But hopefully Andrée can convince you to eat.”

“Ham omelet?” Sharpy asks hopefully. His grin splits his face when Abby pulls out the eggs. He rests his chin on his hand and looks at her dreamily. “You’re the greatest wife ever.”

Abby looks over her shoulder and says, “And don’t you forget it.”

Maddie stuffs another Fruit Loop into her mouth and says cheekily, “Yeah, daddy, don’t forgets it!” She turns to Patrick then and says, voice concerned, “Uncle Peeks, you going?” When he nods, her eyes grow wide and scared. “Going away like Uncle Jonny?” she asks, voice small and timid.

Sharpy interrupts reassuringly and says, “No, Uncle Peeks is going to go stay with Uncle Jonny’s parents for a little while before coming back, okay?”

“To us?”

Patrick ducks his head when Sharpy tries to study him. He’s not sure if he wants to come back and stay here. Obviously if they wanted him to stay with them again, he would graciously accept, but he knows that while he still isn’t ready to be alone for a night, he can’t live like this forever. Sharpy seems to be reading his mind when he says, “We’ll see, baby girl.”

She finishes her cereal right as Abby plops a plated omelet in the space in front of Sharpy. “Enjoy, dear husband.” She winks at Patrick before stuffing a couple bites into her mouth and picking Maddie up. She tosses her daughter over her shoulder and says, “Come on Mads, you can’t stay in your PJs all day. Let’s pick something nice out.”

The two men eat and drink in silence until Sharp checks the clock when he’s done eating. It’s nearly 8. “We should go soon. I’ll get your stuff packed if you want to say goodbye to Maddie and Abby…” he says, putting his plate and fork into the dishwasher. “We gotta go in 5 or so. The sooner the better.”

Patrick pushes himself up from the table and heads upstairs. He pushes the door open to Maddie’s room gently to find her prancing around in a red and white striped dress. Abby is folding a couple outfits and freezes when she sees Patrick. “Already?” she asks, lips turning down slightly.

Patrick nods as Maddie tackles his leg, holding him tight. “I miss you, Uncle Peeks,” she says, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. He holds her close and tries not to cry.

Abby hugs him too when he stands back up. “You’ll be safe in Winnipeg. Just remember you always have a home here,” she whispers in his ear before pulling away. “Besides, I think Patrick likes having another man around the house; whether or not he’ll say it is another story.” She pats his shoulder and picks up Maddie. “Let’s go wave goodbye to Daddy as he takes Uncle Patrick to the airport.”

They follow him downstairs and out the door to where Sharp is sitting in his car, tapping on the steering wheel patiently. Abby and Maddie both give him a kiss on the lips as Patrick gets in, buckling his seatbelt. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Sharp says, starting to pull out of the driveway. Maddie waves enthusiastically as they drive away. “God, I love them so much,” he whispers, turning out of his neighborhood.

Patrick feels the twinges of jealousy catch his heart. In a perfect world, it would be Jonny kissing him goodbye as he pulls out of their house in Buffalo to drive Sharpy to the airport. And their adopted (or surrogate) kids would be waving and saying they would miss their dad while would be gone. But instead, Sharpy gets everything: the perfect kids, the perfect life, the perfect love, and Patrick gets nothing.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Sharpy says carefully, entering the highway. “I know Jonny was close with you and I can’t even imagine what it was like to find him, but I was absolutely crushed when Burish left.” Patrick turns on him, an angry flush coming up his face.

“Hey, settle down and let me finish,” Sharpy snips, merging into a different lane. “I know it’s not the same because Bur is only in San Jose and he’s not dead. But as I was trying to say, it helped me a lot to talk to him about shit that he was missing here. Even if it was stupid shit like what Abby was making for dinner. He was basically my partner in crime, hockey wise, and it always felt like something was missing after he left.” He sighs. “For all the chirping we did, he’s my best friend.”

“So maybe, I don’t know, you should start writing Jonny some letters or something since you’re not talking much these days. But someday, this is all going to catch up to you, and you’ll end up saying things you don’t mean. You were pissed about losing, didn’t let anyone in and fell apart during Madison and look where it got you.”

Patrick slumps down and sticks his hands between his legs. That’s not even fair. Sharp knows that Madison almost ruined Patrick’s life. There were people demanding he be traded to make sure it didn’t happen again. But the week of uppers and downers he was self medicating with while Jonny packed his condo up for the offseason had culminated into an explosion.

And Sharpy knew that. He knew by the time Patrick had come off his cocktail roller coaster and found himself on the side of the road, 10 miles outside of Madison, Patrick was a wreck. And he knows that because Sharpy was the one that he called to pick him up. He knew Jonny would come, but he wanted at least a few hours of peace before he had to face him. Sharp picked him up and drove him back in disappointed silence. Patrick didn’t even need to know if he had heard anything. It was clear everyone had.

He had tried to apologize, but Sharpy had just gritted his teeth and turned south to Chicago, Patrick slumped in the seat. The three hour drive had felt like a week until Sharpy dropped him off at Jonathan’s building. It had to be Jonny’s because, of course, he couldn't be trusted alone anymore. And when Patrick had managed to get out of the car, Sharp had said the first and only thing for four hours. “Those guys aren’t your friends. Your friends wouldn’t have let you do that.”

And then he drove off, letting Patrick deal with his own demons.

But both of them had learned from the experience, because Patrick had gotten help and Sharp didn’t leave him alone this time. He doesn’t just drop him off at the door and wish him luck. Yes, he may not be trusted on his own now, but ultimately it was for the same reason. Nobody wanted to let him have the chance to destroy what was left of his life.

Sharp’s hand feels comforting on his back as they walk into the airport gates together. Patrick pulls his hat over his terribly unwashed hair and pulls his hoodie up over that. He wants to be as small and inconspicuous as possible, least he get recognized.

Andrée and Bryan are waiting just inside the doors with their luggage in tow. “Ah,” Andrée says, “mon Patricks!” She gives Sharpy a hug and says, “How are the other guys doing? Are they well?”

He nods. “Yeah it’s still rough, but we’ll get through it.” He jerks an elbow at Patrick. “Thank you for offering to take Patrick with you. You were right that going up north for a little bit would be good for him. It’s always hard to lose your best friend.”

Andrée glances at Patrick before nodding and saying, “Indeed it is. We really have to get going, Patrick, but send my love to the team.” She smiles at him again. “And tell your mother that she and I must catch up soon!”

Sharpy laughs and says, “Will do.” He hugs Andrée for the final time and shakes Bryan’s hand firmly before turning to Patrick. He envelopes him in a hug. “You can do this, Peekaboo,” Sharp whispers before pulling away and ruffling his hair.

Patrick watches Sharpy’s figure get lost in the sea of people as they head toward security. The agent checking the IDs pauses with a smile when Patrick numbly hands him his, but stops when he sees the zombied look on Patrick’s face. He hands him his ticket and ID back and whispers quietly, “I’m sorry…”

Patrick nods robotically and sets his duffle on the conveyor with his shoes and hoodie. He brought next to nothing, which he’s thankful for when he speeds through security.

He waits for Andrée and Bryan, who are leaving with significantly more things than they came with and certainly more than he has. He gazes around the crowded airport until he sees a kid staring at him, mouth open, eyes wide. Patrick pulls his hood up further when the kids pulls on his mom’s leg, whispering excitedly to her. The mom glances at Patrick and nods, and the kid comes running out of the Subway.

Patrick keeps his head down until the kid is standing in front of him. The little boy taps him on the shoulder and says, “Hey mister, are you Patrick Kane?”

He looks up to see dark brown eyes open in awe of him, with a Blackhawks baseball cap stuffed on his dreadlocks. He’s got a stupid little smile on his face that reminds him a little too much of how he looked at Jonny. Patrick pauses a second before nodding. The boys face falls. “Oh, I thought so,” he says, sitting down next to Patrick on the bench. “I watch all of your games, even when my mom says I can’t stay up late.” He stops to look at Patrick. “And I watched the one Toews got hurt in…” The kid starts picking at the hem of his t-shirt. “My mom told me what happened and I want to tell you I know how you feel.” Patrick meets his sad eyes and isn’t sure if he wants to hear this story.

“Last year, when I was 6, my big brother drowned. He was 8 and a real good swimmer. We went out to the pond by our apartment, and he jumped in and didn’t get out. I thought it was my fault for a long time because I wanted to help but couldn’t. And everybody told me to be big and not talk about it.”

Patrick feels a tear slip down his face and brushes it away quickly. But the boy notices. “And finally I just started letting myself be sad and start talking about it. Trust me, it helps.” He smiles up at Patrick. “I miss him a lot all the time, but I know my big brother would want me to be happy.”

They sit in silence for a second before Patrick pulls off his hat and hands it to the boy. He takes it with shocked excitement. “For me?” he asks incredulously. Patrick nods and pulls him into a big hug. “Thanks Kaner, you’re the best.” The boy hugs him quickly again. “I hope you get happy again too.”

Patrick watches the kid run back to his mom and show her the hat, nearly vibrating with excitement. Andrée and Bryan finally make their way out of security. “That was nice of you,” Bryan says, chuckling. “Kid’ll have quite the story to tell when he gets to wherever he’s going.”

Patrick waves a little at the boy as they head off to their gate. He feels a little more unprotected without his hat, but maybe the kid was right. He needed to let people in again.

The two hour flight and half hour drive to St. Vital goes by in a blur and, before he knows it, he’s standing in the driveway of Jonathan’s house. It’s still the same, even after not having been here for almost 6 months.

And, walking in, it smells and feels just like his second home. There were family pictures on every wall, even a couple with him in them. He pauses to look at one of Jonny, probably age 9 or 10, sitting in the top of a tree. It seems so long ago that they had both been that young, but it feels like yesterday when they were introduced a year or so later after that photo was taken.

“You can stay in the spare room or in Jonathan’s room, whatever is easiest for you,” Bryan says, setting their luggage in the living room. “There’s sheets on both beds if you want to change your mind as well.” Patrick watches him avoid look at any of the pictures of Jonny.

Andrée comes out of the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I could make you some soup or some crackers.”

Patrick’s stomach turns over at the thought of ingesting anything right now, but he’s trying to make a fresh start up here. He nods, forcing a small smile. Andrée heads back in and begins opening cabinets. Patrick sits at his usual spot at the table and stares at Jonny’s empty place. It was tradition that Jonathan and his father sat at the heads of his table with Patrick on Jonny’s left hand and Andrée at Bryan’s right. If David came, he would always sit next to his brother. That was the way it had always been done.

But now one end sat empty and that’s all Patrick can stare at. Andrée sets a hot cup of soup and some buttered toast down in front of him and sits down in her seat next him, staring at the empty space too. “It feels odd having you here and not Jonathan.” She rubs his shoulder as he sips carefully at the soup. “But you’re still our boy, even if Jonathan isn’t anymore.” She sniffs and Patrick can’t even look at her.

After not having eaten for a week, his body sees the food as foreign substance almost immediately. The shooting pains hit him like a truck as he struggles to finish his food. Andrée gets up to start putting their luggage away when Patrick’s stomach throws itself around his body. He lurches to his feet and down the hall into the bathroom. The soup feels like acid coming back up as he convulses into the toilet.

Andrée pokes her head into the bathroom. “Patrick?” She sees him bent over the toilet, coughing and dry heaving. “Oh Patrick, are you okay?” She grabs a washcloth and wets it with cold water. “Was it the food? When did you eat anything last?”

He violently throws up again before slumping against the side of the tub, face pale and clammy. Andrée kneels next to him and wipes his face off. Patrick can’t even imagine what he looks like right now; he hasn’t showered, eaten, or slept since Jonny died and he’s certainly feeling it now. And Andrée seems to sense it as well as she says, “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” He nods shakily and she helps him to his feet. “Let’s start at the beginning, then.”

She runs warm water and carefully eases him out of his clothing. He stands there naked as the tub fills up. “Allez, mon fils. Easy now,” Andrée whispers, helping him into the bathtub. She bathes him gently, like the catatonic child grief turned him into. Patrick shivers as she carefully washes his hair, pouring water and soap over his skin.

After he’s clean and dried off, she grabs a shirt and shorts out of Jonathan’s room and carefully helps him into them. Everything is 2 sizes too big but at least the bagginess hides his emaciated form. And, of course, everything smells just like Jonny. Patrick is drowning in the remnants of him as Andrée runs a comb gently through his hair, getting the mats out. She probably hasn’t had to do this since David was little, but it seems like Patrick isn’t the only one benefitting from it.

Andrée helps him down the hallway, murmuring, “You want Jonathan’s bed, correct?” His chest feels heavy as he sighs, nodding slowly. She opens the door and leads him in.

Everything is just like Jonathan left it at 15 when he left for boarding school. Signed pictures and medals hanging on the walls, pictures of his family scattered around the room. Books left sitting on the floor from last postseason. A sole picture of him and Patrick sitting on the small desk in the corner. It’s a little more plain than Patrick’s room back in Buffalo, but Jonny was a no-frills kind of guy. However messy the room is, the bed sits neatly made and pristine in the middle of the room.

The blue sheets rustle softly as Andrée pulls them back and tucks Patrick in on the left side. She pulls the covers over him and sits down next to him, smoothing a hand over his hair. Patrick’s mind goes blank as she starts humming a familiar lullaby. It’s in French and neither Patrick nor Jonathan knew where it comes from, but Andrée used to sing it for him every night before Jonny went to sleep until the age of 9, and she continued doing it when he was injured in his latter years. Jonny would occasionally do it when Patrick got hurt, his deep voice struggling to stay on pitch. But it was warm and comforting and reminded Patrick of being safe and loved.

He barely feels his eyes closing until he drifts away into hard and heavy sleep.

It’s a simple dream, nothing like the hallucinogenic memory that plagued him when Sharpy slipped something in his drink. It’s him and Jonny laying right here, in his childhood bed, the first time they came up to visit his family as a couple. It’s Jonny putting a gentle hand on Patrick’s face and kissing him, so in love and so happy. And it’s Patrick murmuring that he wishes that they could stay like this forever.

But even that simple dream leaves him with a headache when he opens his eyes again, tangled in Jonny’s sheets, clothing, and pillows. He feels gross and sweaty but relatively better after however much sleep he’s gotten. The house is empty as he wanders out into the living room and kitchen. He takes a quick shower and changes into another set of Jonathan’s clothing. He pours himself a cup of water and drinks it slowly at the dining room table.

The door opens an hour later, just around sunset and Bryan and Andrée come in, talking softly. Andrée jumps a little when she sees Patrick sitting there. “Have you been up long?”

Patrick shakes his head and puts his cup in the dishwasher. “You were out quite a while, son,” Bryan says, hanging his and Andrée’s jackets up. “Almost 30 hours, probably. You must be starving.” Patrick shrugs a little and he turns to his wife. “Andrée, can you fix something for everyone? If you don’t mind.”

Andrée kisses him on the cheek and says, “Sure, if you can start on the thank you cards from the funeral.” She turns to Patrick. “Would you like to help me make dinner?” All of his muscles feel like jello as he follows her into the kitchen. She sets him out with something easy, breaking the ends off green beans. It’s monotonous and somewhat hard to do with his braces on, but it’s the first time since Jonny died that anyone has asked him to do something.

"Do you remember the first time you helped me make dinner?” Andrée murmurs, bustling around the kitchen. _Snap_. Patrick keeps his head down as she continues. _Snap_. “You were so nervous about coming here that you nearly caught the kitchen on fire.” _Snap_. She laughs a little, saying, “Although I did need to get new towels.” _Snap_.

“Every time Jonny left the kitchen, you started to fall apart. But every time he came back, you were strong again.” _Snap_. “I know you miss him, Patrick, but we all do.” _Snap_.

He looks down at the cutting board and the pile of half-mangled green beans. Another tear plops down.

Andrée cups his chin and turns his head to look at him. Patrick can barely meet her eyes as she says, “He’s still with you in your heart. Don’t forget that.” He nods, blinking back tears. Andrée forces a smile, saying, “Good. Now let me help you.”

The food sits oddly in his stomach, his body still unused to actual food. But it tastes good, even if he did overcook the vegetables. Patrick does his best to ignore the still empty spot, but Andrée notices him glancing between there and his plate. “Would you feel better if there was a plate there, Patrick?”

He nods and feels his muscles relax after she sets a plate at Jonathan’s spot. It’s not the same, but it’s an improvement.

Dinner continues quietly as he pretends to eat more than he does. Andrée and Bryan try to make small conversation, but everything falls flat.

“Do you still want to stay in Jonathan’s room?" Andree asks, watching him push at the food around his plate as everyone finishes.

Patrick shakes his head, chewing on the inside of his lip. He glances at the couch, knowing that that’s the only place he'd be able to stay. Not Jonny’s room. Not without him. Andrée and Bryan definitely notice and silently converse between the two of them.

Bryan looks at Patrick, slightly puzzled. “If you really want to sleep on the couch, I guess that's okay… You sure you don’t want to stay in-”

Shaking his head quickly, Patrick lowers his eyes. Andrée nods at him, understanding. It was nice being around people that loved Jonny as much as he did. He didn’t have to try and explain anything. Didn’t have to justify. While Sharpy and Seabs were close with him, it just wasn’t the same.

“If that’s what you want to do, son,” Bryan says, beginning to clean plates off the table.

Patrick stands up, helping as much as possible as he takes the plates from Bryan and gives him a desperate look. But, more than just helping, he wants to take his mind off the fact that he was positive Jonny was sitting at the dining room table.

Andrée and Bryan look at each other for a second, making up their mind. “Okay, Patrick,” Andrée says, getting up. “I’ll get some laundry started then. We haven't done any in ages. Are you clothes still in Jonny’s room?” Patrick nods, putting plates in the dishwasher. She returns a short time later, holding the small pile of clothes he has. “Is this all you brought?” He ducks his head a little, nodding. Andrée raises her hand, saying, “Say no more. I understand.”

He hears the laundry start and looks at the clock. It’s almost 9 pm. He peeks into the living room to see Bryan slumped on the couch, rubbing his face tiredly. After putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, Patrick makes his way to the couch carefully. He nudges their knees together lightly, checking on the older man.

Bryan sighs softly and wipes his eyes a little. “Yeah, Pat, I’m okay. I just keep thinking, ‘What do I do now?’ Andrée’s a mess. David barely wants to talk to us, you’re clearly having a hard time, and all I want is for Jonny to walk through that door. I know that’s selfish of me, but no parent should have to bury their child. It isn’t _fair_.”

Patrick sits down on the couch next to him, hands in his lap, head hung low.

Bryan won’t even look at him as he says, “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not like you could’ve done anything anyway.” It cuts deep into Pat’s heart as the older man gets up without another word, shutting the bedroom door a little too loudly.

It's agonizing, the slow roll of the tear down the bridge of his nose. He flinches a little when Andrée calls out, “Mon fils, we’re going to head to bed. The sheets are in the closet, okay?” He nods brokenly and pulls his body in tight as the bedroom door shuts again.

It takes all of his strength not to break down entirely. But Bryan was right. He had time to do something but that was before he woke up to Jonathan in bed next to him, dead.

The weather outside is cold, colder that Chicago at night, but Patrick doesn’t care. It’s just a short walk to the large field that held the ice rink. It’s drained now for the spring, but he's just glad Bryan never took it down, even after Jonathan moved out. This was where Jonny grew up. This is where he perfected his game. This is where he became the great player and person he was. He sits out there, watching the sky lighten and the sun rise over the boards of the rink as the morning hits. It’s beautiful up here; Patrick had always liked coming up here with Jonny. He would never admit it to his boyfriend, but he always understood why Jonny loved Canada so much. There was a beauty about it that was undeniable. And, yet, it felt a little more empty now.

Patrick jumps a little as the sun peeks over the trees when he hears, “I’m sorry, son,” behind him. He turns around to see Bryan standing there, eyes tired. “I didn’t mean what I said, Patrick,” he continues. “I’m just so… _angry_. I lay awake thinking about what that bastard did to my son and it makes my blood boil. I had to bury my son just because he did what he loved and I can’t stand it. My wife can’t stop crying and my other son won’t even talk to us and I’ve got no idea what to say to either of them,” Bryan says, voice wavering.

All he can do is put a hand on his shoulder as Bryan bends over, face in his hands. Patrick tries to keep it together as the older man begins to cry. Bryan’s always been a rock, throughout Jonny’s life and hockey career, and was always there for Patrick when his own father couldn’t be there for one reason or another. And, here he is, broken just like the rest of them. Patrick’s not sure how he’s going to get through his stay in Winnipeg in one piece.

~

He stays out of the way and out of Andrée and Bryan’s minds as he tries to collect everything he can inside his brain. All the pictures, all the memories that he has from here. But there’s one thing that he still hasn’t been brave enough to do.

The door creaks when he finally opens it to Jonathan’s room again.

He hasn’t been able to come in since Andrée laid him down three days ago. Granted, he spent over an entire day of that time sleeping in here, but still, he hasn’t gotten the courage to set foot back in.

The only thing that’s changed has been the mussed up sheets. Patrick treads lightly, looking around. He begins pulling out various knickknacks off the walls and out of boxes. He gets Jonny’s journal, that he always thought was in the best hiding spot, out from under a loose floorboard. He gets everything out to try and remember the parts of Jonathan that had started to go fuzzy at the edges, memories blurring together.

He has all of Jonny’s medals and ribbons strewn across the desk, holding the picture of the two of them together. It really is a great picture of them. Most of the ones he sees everywhere have both of them in their jerseys, or franchise shirts. But this one is different.

It’s a candid, taken at what looks like their annual 4th of July Toews/Kane Family Get Together at his house in Buffalo. Patrick is sitting at the rented picnic table, staring up at Jonny, who’s leaned back against the tree next to the table. He’s forgotten what he looks like when he’s actually happy. And there’s Jonny, so peaceful, so in love. Everybody called him Captain Serious, but that’s because they never saw him like this, relaxed and blissful.

Patrick’s head takes in everything all at once, Jonny’s tan face, the curve of his jaw, the crease of his cheeks as he smiles. He takes in the broad lines of Jonny’s shoulders, the glint of sweat on his temples. In his mind, Jonny reminded him of a Greek hero, both in likeness and determination. Genetics, luck, and hard work had produced a body like nothing Patrick had ever seen before. He was never a big fan of art, but all the classical statues reminded him of his boyfriend.

Jonathan was always quite the exhibitionist, but never in the way he was around Patrick. In the locker room, he was always in Captain mode, body tall and hard, living in vertical strides. But when it was just the two of them, it was a world of horizontal lengths, powerful legs stretched out beneath him, body spread across sheets, long, liquid movements. Time stretched instead of marched, crawled instead of ticked by on a clock. Their entire life was spent in a race but together, time couldn’t move slow enough.

And that picture showed that soft, languid haze they always seemed to find themselves in. Although both their families flocked around them, there they were in their own little world.

But now half of the world was gone. Instead of a sunrise on the horizon, it was a crumbled, black abyss. Only blood, death, and a life without love came to mind when he thought about his future. Jonny always said he had an entire universe in his head, but now he had a black hole threatening to implode all of it.

“Patrick?”

He looks up and sees Andrée standing there in the doorway, worry cut deep in her face. He looks around, black hole growing bigger as the room spins, until…

“Maman, I _failed_ him.”

His words come out as cotton, stuffed inside his body for too long. Andrée races over as he collapses, tears flooding over his body. “I failed him. I failed you,” he chokes out, clinging to her desperately. “I let everyone down. It’s all my fault.” Fat tears roll heavily down his face. Andrée holds him close to her chest and just lets him cry.

“You didn’t fail Jonathan, my son. You were everything to him. You could never let him down. This wasn’t your fault.”

“His hand was clenched in my shirt when I woke up, Maman. He was trying to get me to wake up. He needed help and I just kept sleeping. I should have been there; I could’ve saved him. If I had just stayed awake…” The room finally stops spinning and he feels like he just got off a merry-go-round from hell.

“Is this why you haven’t been sleeping? You’re scared of what you’re going to find when you wake up? Because you blame that on losing Jonathan?”

He shakes his head and his voice trembles as he says, “I’ve been seeing him, hearing him. Jonny. More and more the less I sleep. I’m so scared of losing him again, even if it means I’m going crazy.” Patrick looks at Andrée, madness spinning. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

“If you are, then so am I. I hear him laughing sometimes, around corners and in the night. I don’t think you’re crazy, Patrick,” she says, cupping his face. “I think Jonny isn’t fully gone.” As Patrick lifts his head, he finally gets a good look at her. Andree’s skin had greyed and seemed as translucent as paper. It pooled with horror and grief down to her veins. And her eyes shone with the same pits of insanity that Patrick sees in himself.

“I tried to kill myself.”

The pits grow deeper and fill with Patrick’s grief. The guilt builds in his stomach from telling Andrée. She had already lost one son already and Patrick was close enough to be her third. He was her son just as much as she was his Maman. “Can you tell me why?”

The room spins again and Patrick has to hold the carpet to keep steady. He looks everywhere but her eyes as he chokes out, “I can’t live without him, Maman. I’ve loved him since I was twelve. He was the first and only person I’ve been in love with. He’s been half my life and I wanted him to be the last person I saw for the rest of it. My future’s over without him.” He meets Andrée’s eyes. “We were each other’s everything, the only difference is that Jonny’s always going to have me, but I have nothing.”

Andrée pulls him into her lap, stroking his hair gently. “Mon fils,” she murmurs, “you don’t have nothing. You have your family, hockey, your team, even us. And you say you have nothing?”

“It feels like nothing without Jonny.” Patrick closes his eyes, just letting Andrée comfort him. His voice is quiet as he mutters, “I’ve started to forget what he sounds like. I hear his voice and he doesn’t sound like himself. Maybe it is all in my head and I’m starting to forget what it’s like.” Andrée pauses, hand over the curls on the back of his neck. “Am I starting to forget Jonny?”

“Then let’s go remind ourselves.”

There’s about 20 tapes of home videos stacked in the living room. Each one is labeled with Jonathan’s name and a date. When Andrée puts the first one in, the image of a tiny baby pops up. Patrick pulls his feet up on the couch and rests his chin on his knees. Andrée sits down next to him as her voice plays on the tape. _“Bienvenue à la maison, mon cher.”_ Andrée smiles as the baby begins cooing. “This was when we brought Jonathan back from the hospital. I was so scared to bring him home; I thought I was going to break him.”

Jonathan’s tiny fists ball up, shaking as he wells his face up to cry. _“Shhh, mon cher. Vous êtes à la maison maintenant.”_ Jonathan immediately settles down, babbling quietly. A small smile pulls across Patrick’s face. The film cuts to Jonathan in a blue onesie, small patch of hair grown across the top of his head. He’s standing on his own this time, older now but still wobbly. “Allez, Jonathan. Venez maman.” A huge smile splits Jonathan’s tiny face as he takes his first steps before toppling over. “It seems so long ago that he was this little. He’s grown so big since then. It goes by too fast,” Andrée says quietly.

They watch more and more videos of Jonny's childhood. Everything from his first day of school to his first hockey game to his first goal. Patrick watches his love grow before his eyes, from birth to teen.

He’s not expecting the next video that pops up. There’s Jonny, probably in his early teens, sitting in the backseat of the car. David’s sitting next to him, reading some book. _“So Jonathan tells us about playing in Toronto!”_ his dad says from the front seat. _“It’s nice to have you back!”_

Jonathan ducks his head, muttering, _“Oui papa, c'était amusant.. There were some really good guys there. There was one that was… crazy good.”_ David giggles next to him, making Jonny turn bright red.

 _“What was his name?”_ asks Andrée, from behind the camera.

Patrick watches Jonathan duck a little bit, smirk spreading in the way it did when anyone mentioned Pat, and says, _“Patrick… Kane. He was nice. I liked playing with him. It was nice making a… friend.”_ More cackles from David and the tape stops fully. The way Jonny had left from the Junior Flyers, Patrick had thought that he was the only one smitten, but it seems like he had made a decent enough impression on Jonathan to turn even the serious teenager into a blushing schoolgirl.

“He liked you.” Patrick shakes himself out of his thoughts as Andrée says, “Even then, when he talked about you, I could tell. It was nice finally getting to meet you when you were drafted. It seemed like fate when it happened.”

He sits back, all of the images burned into his mind forever, and murmurs, “It was. I couldn’t even believe it. I loved him so much from the moment I saw him.” Patrick’s hands are shaking so badly he has to stuff them under his legs to keep Andrée from noticing. But he can’t hide the waver in his voice as he asks, “Are there any more? Please?”

Sighing, she says, “Désolé, mon fils, that was the last time we filmed him. He went off to boarding school not even two years later. I wish I had more.” She pauses for a second, thinking. “But we do have what other people filmed.”

They spend the next two hours watching every interview and highlight reel Patrick can find on the internet. A good half were done with him and he’s not sure how he could’ve forgotten them. At the time, every interview seemed to meld into one another. But, now, he has every single word Jonathan ever said on camera imprinted into his mind. The way his lips moved, the way the muscles in his cheeks pulled, the way his eyes lit up every time Patrick’s name was mentioned. It was all things he noticed, but should’ve paid more attention to in the past.

As Patrick queues up the next one, he lays his head in Andrée’s lap, asking, “What are we going to do without him?”

Her hand stops in his hair for a moment before she answers, “I don’t know, Patrick. I want to be so angry at everything that happened, but I know Jonathan wouldn’t want that.” Her voice is quivering and Patrick reaches up to hold her hand. “We haven’t even been able to open his will. I don’t want to know what he wanted in case this happened. I don’t even like that he had a will, because it was almost as if he knew he would get hurt.”

The first tear plops down on the side of his face, heavy as a brick. Andrée’s body trembles as Patrick sits up, his heart breaking. It’s almost as if her face cracks, like delicate china, one line at a time and then all at once. She crumples over, sobbing into her hands violently. She’s been strong up until now. No more.

He reaches a hand out, unsure of whether or not to touch her, whispering, “Maman, please don’t cry.” She doesn’t stop, so Patrick carefully pulls her against his chest. It’s amazing how a few hours time their roles had completely reversed. She had held him and now it was his turn to be her rock. “ _Please_ , don’t cry,” he repeats again, maybe more to himself than to Andrée.

They sit like that until Bryan comes home, face worn and weary and Andrée immediately flies into his arms, leaving Patrick sitting on the couch. He keeps his eyes down and away from their moments together, and suddenly feels like crawling out of his skin. Looking around at everything he’s known in Winnipeg, the pictures of Jonny, even the air here, suddenly feels like a foreign place. It’s stopped feeling like home.

“I think I need to go back.”

Andrée and Bryan freeze, turning toward him. Giving his wife a tentative look, Bryan lets go of her and takes a step toward Patrick. “Are you sure, son? You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you’d like.”

Patrick’s heart sinks into his chest as he keeps his eyes on the carpet. “I know, Papa. But I still think I need to go back. This has helped, for sure, but it’s getting to be a bit much. I love being here but being here without Jonny just feels wrong.”

Andrée is about to open her mouth when Bryan puts a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head. He turns back to Patrick, saying, “I understand. I know what you mean, it’s not the same without him here.”

Packing is the hardest. He shuts himself off in Jonny’s room, folding his clothing carefully before sticking it in his duffle bag. There isn’t much to do, but Patrick wants to bring home a couple things home with him. He brings the half empty journal sitting on the desk with him. He hadn’t ever read it, one of Jonny’s wishes, but now might be a good time to do so. Jonny had always said he started it when he left for boarding school quit writing when he got drafted. There was a good three years that Patrick had missed that might be scrawled in the pages.

He shoots a text to Sharp halfway through. _Booking flight home soon. U pick me up?_

It’s barely two minutes when he gets a reply. _Done. Shoot for Friday morning. Picking Bur up from airport too._

Burish was coming up? Patrick was both surprised and half expecting it. Even after getting traded, Sharpy and Burish were inseparable. Whenever they played each other, after the game, everybody knew to brace themselves for their antics. It was just like when they were both on the same team, the jokes, the pranks, the sarcastic comments.

But something tells Patrick that Burish wasn’t just coming up for a jovial visit. Sharpy must have finally broken down and lost it or something. Some kind of emotion that wasn’t his joking self.

He texts back quickly, _OK. Will do_. and continues packing. He buys a plane ticket for Friday morning and continues packing. Patrick throws in some of Jonathan’s clothes to add to the couple t-shirts and pants he had of his own. Everything was going to be big on him, but almost everything he owned was now big on him. Nobody was going to notice.

When he finishes, he heads out into the living room, asking Andrée, “Maman, can I take this?” He holds up the journal nervously.

Andrée smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners as she says, “Of course. Jonathan didn’t write much, but you're welcome to it. I don’t think we need that around right now.” She looks at him carefully, studying him, eyes taking in everything. Her voice is quieter this time as she murmurs, “We’re really going to miss you around here; you know that, right? You have a home here whenever you need it, okay?”

Nodding, Patrick smiles softly and says, “I know Maman. I’m going to miss you guys too. Can we go out to dinner tonight? I’ll take care of everything for once.”

Andrée cups his cheek gently. “We’d love that, Patrick.”

~

He spends a nervous night after dinner tossing and turning in Jonny’s bed. He knows he needs to go home but doesn’t know how he’s going to face Chicago again.

He gets up early and cooks breakfast, trying not to burn the eggs. He sits at the table, chewing anxiously on his thumbnail. When Andrée comes through the door, asking, “Patrick, how long have you been up?” Pat shrugs a little, picking at his food.

“I don’t know, Maman. Didn’t really get that much sleep. I’m kind of scared about going back. Even though it’s something I know I need to do,” he mutters, watching as Andrée reheats her breakfast.

She runs a hand through his hair and kisses his forehead. “Don’t worry mon fils. Things will get better with time. You may be scared now, but just remember that you have the strength inside of you. You always do,” she says, smiling gently at Patrick. “You’ve got an angel over your shoulder watching you. Just don’t forget that.”

Patrick smiles back at her, giving her hand a squeeze. “I won’t forget him. I promise.”

A few minutes later, Bryan comes into the kitchen, asking, “Did you cook all this, son?” He nods, taking a couple more bites of eggs. “Thanks for that. I’ll have to eat some when we get back from the airport. I know we’ll need to leave soon so you don’t miss your plane.”

Half an hour later, they’re all packed in the car and on their way to the airport. Patrick watches Winnipeg go by outside, fingers pressed gently to the window. He watches the world drift by, spring slipping into the air, promising new life.

The airport is busy and Patrick has to keep a close eye on Bryan and Andrée so he doesn’t lose them. He had printed his tickets out already and stands in front of security, trying to keep the tears down in his eyes. They had helped him so much and they would never truly know how much. They had brought him back. They had saved his life.

Andrée looks at him tearily, beginning, “Oh, Patrick…”

Patrick quickly pulls Andrée in tight, whispering, “Thank you, Maman,” in her ear.

She puts a hand on his cheek, saying, “You’re welcome, mon fils. It was good having you home for a while. Make sure you come back and visit after all of this is behind us. I’m sure we’ll see you soon, with playoffs starting.” There are tears in her eyes that Patrick can read clear as day. Andrée had spent so much time being a hockey mom that she still doesn’t know what to do now that playoffs are starting without Jonathan.

“Any of us would be glad to see you,” he says, giving her one final hug.

“Thanks for coming, son,” Bryan says, patting him on the shoulder. “I know Andrée is having a hard time. It’s good you could be here.”

He holds out his hand for Patrick to shake. But this wasn’t a time for formality. He pulls Jonathan’s dad into a tight hug. “No, Papa. Thank you. For everything.” Bryan and Andrée had done more than had been asked and had supported his healing, even when they had no support themselves.

Patrick waves goodbye, lump hard in his throat as he walks to security. There’s thankfully no one that recognizes this time. It’s just a quiet, lonely flight back to Chicago. He keeps his head down until he gets out of the plane. The Chicago air feels just like it did when he left, but it’s still a welcomed shock to his system. He peers out the front doors, not seeing Sharpy’s car, and sits on a bench, turning his phone on to wait for a text from Sharpy.

It finally arrives, about two minutes later, saying, _Got Bur, we’re out front._ Throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder, Patrick pushes the doors open. Burish is standing next to Sharpy’s car, grin on his face.

“Kaner!”

Before he knows it, Burish all but nearly tackles him, throwing his arms around Patrick with enthusiasm that had been absent around Chicago. Everything and everyone had become sad and angry, stoic and mean. Bur, on the other hand, out in San Jose, had managed to escape the early ice.

The older man ruffles his dirty hair, saying, “I missed you, kid.” Patrick hugs him back tight. For all the pranks and shit giving that went on while Burish was in Chicago, he and Patrick were still close. “How was Winterpeg?” Burish asks, leading him over to the car. Patrick just shrugs his shoulders a little, trying to avoid the look that his friend gives him. “Oh right, I forgot about the whole no-talking thing. Sharpy told me but you know…” He waves his hand over his head. “Jet lag.”

Patrick sets his bag in the backseat and climbs in behind it. Burish hops into the front, shutting both doors. “Hey Kaner, how was Winnipeg?” Sharp asks, starting the car again.

When he doesn’t answer, Sharp and Burish just give each other an all knowing look. It’s quick, but Patrick definitely catches the eye roll that Sharpy thinks he can’t see. It stings somewhere deep in his chest, rebuilding that wall one by one. Patrick tucks his body as small as possible as Sharpy and Burish catch up with each other, talking like they had seen each other only yesterday.

He watches the city fly by until they pull up in front of Sharp’s house. He gets out shakily, moving slowly behind his friends. Sharpy opens the door and tosses his keys on the table, saying, “Girls, I’m home!” Burish follows him in while Patrick hangs back, unsure.

Abby is sitting on the floor inside, Sadie cooing in between her legs, while Maddie giggles in Burish’s arms, huge smile splitting her face. When Patrick finally gets the energy to cross the threshold, Abby smiles at him, saying, “Welcome back!”

“Uncle Peeks!” Maddie scrambles out of Burish’s arms and up his leg. He picks her up and buries his face in her shoulder. She we raps her arms around his neck and cups the back of his head. Patrick can feel the anxious knot in the base of his spine start to relax as the toddler plays with his curls gently. “I taught you’d never comes back!”

He wants to tell her that he’d always come back, no matter what, but the words just won’t come out. So he just hugs her tightly, hoping that she already knew. “Did you have fun on your trip?” Abby asks, handing Sadie off to Sharpy. He nods, setting Maddie down. “Were Andree and Bryan doing okay?” He watches Maddie tackle Burish again, who tickles her knees wildly. He sees smiles and laughter and feels his eyes well up. He knew being back was going to be hard, but Patrick didn’t know it’d be this hard. “Patrick?” Abby asks again. He startles out of his thoughts and looks at her. “Jonathan’s parents? Are they okay?” He wipes his eyes quickly and nods.

Abby looks over at Sharpy before taking a step towards him. “Are _you_ okay? Any better?” Patrick looks down at the floor and shakes his head softly. Abby sighs quietly and whispers, “Come on, let’s go out back. You look like you could use some fresh air.”

He follows her out to the back porch, sitting down next to her. Abby sighs contentedly, saying, “It’s kind of nice to have Adam around again. He’s so good with the girls. And it gives me a little alone time, which I never get.” She rests back on her hands and lets the sun warm her face. “Do you ever miss this? It’s got to be so hard, being stuck inside all day, on the ice. You guys go from the gym to the ice and back to the hotel. You never really get to be outside and feel the warmth of the sun whenever you want to. You should do this more often.”

Patrick leans forward and puts his head on his knees. Abby sits back up and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You need to start talking to someone, Patrick,” she says, rubbing him slowly. “If it’s not to me or Pat, then maybe Burish? Or Q?” He looks at her tiredly and she studies his face carefully. She furrows her brows and asks gently, “But that’s not who you want to talk to, is it?”

He can’t meet her eyes. He can’t look at Abby, with all her motherly wisdom and all her years of dealing with Sharpy. “You want to talk to Jonny, don’t you?” she asks quietly. Patrick bites his lip, swallowing roughly. “You should. I’m sure he’ll hear you. You guys have spent almost 8 years on the same team, nearly doing everything together, someone like that doesn’t leave you just because they die. And I think you know that.”

Patrick sits up, and takes a deep breath. It takes a while, but he finally nods, smiling sadly at Abby. She smiles back at him and pulls him into a hug. “Do what you need to do, Patrick. It’ll be okay.” She kisses his cheek gently and says, “I’m going to go make sure the boys don’t burn the house down.”

He waits until he hears the screen door close, clenching his fists and sighing. He sits outside for quite a while, thinking everything over before he says anything. The sun rises and begins to sink before he decides to take Abby’s advice.

His chin shakes as he whispers, “Jonny? Are you there? It’s me, Patrick.” The only answer he gets is the wind whipping through the yard. Tears burn his eyes and throat as he chokes out, “Jonny? Please. Please just talk to me…”

Biting his hand, Patrick stifles his sobs as there’s still only silence. He knew this was stupid. Jonny wasn’t there; he wasn’t going to answer him. This was the worst idea ever. It was only going to break him more.

_“Patrick?”_

He nearly chokes on his breath, whipping his head around to look. He’s still completely alone, nobody around but him. Patrick pulls back the feeling of needing to dry heave, and manages out, “Is that you?” A broken sob rakes his body.

 _“Yeah, baby, it’s me. I’m sorry.”_ It was Jonny’s voice, clear as the sunshine. _“I'm sorry I left you.”_

“I miss you so much that I feel like I’m dying. I miss you more than I-“

_“I know. I’m sorry. I love you, Patrick. I know this wasn’t your fault. Please don’t think that I died because of you. Promise me?”_

Patrick bites the inside of his cheek, hard enough to taste slick blood. He closes his eyes, refuses to see if Jonny is sitting right next to him or not, and whispers, “I promise.”

“Patrick?”

He looks back to see Abby and Maddie standing at the door, waiting for him. “Uncle Peeks, dinner!” Maddie calls through the screen door. Patrick waits a little to see if Jonny says anything else, but it’s just the Chicago wind. He heads inside, letting the toddler guide him to the table.

Abby's putting the last bowl of carrots on the table, saying, “It’s so nice to have everybody back." She puts the tray on Sadie's high chair.

Sitting down in the only empty seat, Patrick tries to relax as they eat dinner. He picks aimlessly at a piece of bread and just pushes a handful of noodles around his plate. He’s still not very hungry, but knows how much it means for Sharpy and Abby. They both look extremely hopeful at the couple bites he takes, but Burish doesn’t. Adam just watches him carefully between forkfuls. It’s enough to make Patrick’s heart thump as he pretends not to notice, eyes locked on his plate.

“So Bur, how’s it going in San Jose?” Sharpy asks, grabbing more pasta.

Adam tears his eyes off Patrick and shrugs a little, saying, “Yeah, it’s not bad. Nice and warm at last. Way better than Chicago. I don’t have to see you all the time.” He gives a quick smirk that fades a little too soon. “But it’s been weird the last few weeks. Everyone’s pretty broken up about Tazer. Nemo was a wreck, you should’ve seen him, man.”

“That’s just from being stuck around you for forever,” Sharpy says, letting out a laugh that seems a little to fake for Patrick’s liking.

And Burish definitely catches that too, but doesn’t call Sharpy out, only looking to Abby to ask, “Is he always like this?”

Abby rolls her eyes, picking apart some chicken for Sadie. “Unfortunately,” she says, trying to force a smile.

Maybe coming back to Chicago wasn’t a good idea. Here they all were, ignoring all the pain and sadness, covering everything up with bad jokes that didn’t help in the first place. Jonny was dead and no one even wanted to talk about it.

He tunes the dinner time conversation out, continuing to nibble slowly on what little food he had on his plate.

Burish ends up cornering him after dinner, while Sharp is loading the dishwasher and Abby is giving the girls a bath. “Hey, kid, are you sure you’re all right?” he asks, brow furrowing. When Patrick just shrugs dismissively, Burish says, “Kaner, stop it. That’s not going to work on me. Stop pretending that you’re not broken up about this too. You and Jonny were tight, it’s okay to be upset. You’re not a stone wall. You never were.”

When Patrick pulls away to go upstairs, Adam holds his arm tight, saying, “The jokes bother you, don’t they? What Sharpy and I say, that’s driving you crazy, right? I could see it in your face at dinner.”

Patrick nods, head down. Bur claps him on the shoulder, saying, “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll tell him to lay off.” Pat’s not sure how much of a difference it would make, but anything could help.

Adam grabs him around the shoulders, saying, “Come on, we’re just about to watch a movie. From what Sharpy said, you could use the socialization. He said you’ve kind of shut yourself off from everyone.” It’s true. Sharpy couldn’t be more right. But those walls were built for a reason.

The movie that Sharpy picked out is terrible, per usual, but he and Bur still spend the entire time making their own commentary, much to the annoyance of Abby. Patrick chuckles a little, tucked deep into the couch.

He feels a brush of warm skin on the hairs of his arms. He’s so aptly aware of the extra set of breathing next to him that he knows exactly who it is. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Jonny’s profile, static and blurred, as if that world was an out of signal TV. Jonny smiles at him, grin flickering in and out of frame.

Patrick stares for a while, eyes tracing his face, before silently sliding his hand over to the empty space between them. Jonny’s gaze catches the motion and he laces their fingers together. _“Je t’aime, Patrick.”_

“Peeks, what’d you say?” He jerks his head towards Sharpy, who gives him a curious look. But quickly, his friend realizes that it wasn’t him and shakes his head a little, trying to get the thought out of his head that he might have just heard a ghost.

~

Saturday night, he gets dragged out to some bar by Sharpy and Burish to go meet up with Duncan and Seabs. Patrick does not want to go, but Sharpy all but tosses him in the backseat, locking the child locks like the asshole he is. All Patrick wants to do is break the window or break down crying, whichever comes first. But Sharpy reassures him that it was “good for him.”

The bar is crowded but thankfully not too loud. They find Duncan and Brent tucked at the corner of the bar, Seabs already hunched over a glass. “I didn’t think you would actually make it!” Duncan says, knocking Burish on the shoulder. “You old men don’t make it out too often.”

“Funny stuff Duncs. I see your sense of humor is still as shitty as it was when I left,” Adam says, nudging Sharpy. “Where’s Seabsy?” Duncan motions to him and Bur’s mouth drops open, exclaiming, “Holy shit dude, what’d you do to your-”

Both Sharpy and Duncs shake their heads frantically motioning not to mention the other man’s shaved head. Brent hunkers down more when Adam claps him on the back, saying, “You look good man. Almost didn’t recognize you.” Seabs rolls his hand off his shoulders, eyes dark as ever. Patrick catches the look between Sharpy and Bur as they agree to address the situation later.

Pat sits carefully next to Brent, hoping the older man doesn’t try to hit him or something. And, thankfully, he doesn’t, just slides an empty glass and the bottle of whiskey over in front of him. “Here,” he says gruffly. “Drink.”

Pouring himself a glass, Patrick relishes on the heavy burn in his throat. He can feel it immediately numb his legs and relax the knot between his eyes. It dulls the din around him as Sharp, Bur, and Duncs make jokes right beside him.

He and Seabs pass the bottle back and forth for a good hour or so, silently acknowledging the other’s lack of desire to be here. The bar blurs and the glass seems to be harder and harder to hold. All of the voices around him seem to meld into the music, mushing to a perfect drone that threatens to put him into a drunken sleep.

Putting his head in his hands, Patrick watches Burish tell some story about one of the new kids on his team. An inebriated grin pulls across his face as he struggles to listen. Adam’s getting to the best part when, out of the corner of his eye, Patrick sees a blur of broad shoulders and dark eyes. He urns on his stool just in time to see Jonny’s silhouette slip into the bathroom.

The bar spins as he stands up, lurching over his own feet. He keeps following Jonny’s path, even as Duncs asks, “Where’s Kaner going?” until he pushes the heavy door open.

“Jonny?”

All he hears is running water. One of the sinks had been left on. He knows nobody came out within the past 20 minutes, but Jonny definitely went in. Reaching out, he takes a minute to shut it off. His head is pounding along with his heart as he whispers, “Where are you?”

He gets no answer, no movement, no Jonny. He pushes the stall doors open carefully, heart sinking as he finds them all empty. There’s no one here. There never was. Whether it’s the alcohol or the pent up rage, Patrick’s not sure, but it leaves him kicking the stall doors in anger. “I know you’re in here!" He screams, stomach acid rising high in his throat. “I know you’re here, Jonny!”

He can hear the slur in his voice, words slowed and muddled together. His brain throbs as the door pushes open. His hopes rise, but fall back to the pit he keeps them in when it’s only Burish.

“Hey Kaner, you okay in here-“ Adam’s cut off by the abrupt stream of vomit that works its way out of Patrick’s mouth. “Shit.” He grabs Pat’s arm, trying to get him over a toilet before the next wave hits.

Patrick is gratefully for the type of friends he has as Bur keeps a steady hand on his shoulder while he loses track of the amount of times he hurls.

The night begins to blur out of his head as he catches bits and pieces. Sharpy coming in with the janitor and a glass of water. Seabs’ dark eyes following him out of the bathroom. Duncs saying that they would catch them at practice on Monday, and that it was nice seeing Burish back in town. Getting helped into the passenger’s seat. Throwing up in Sharp’s yard when they get home. All of it, a train wreck.

By the time he finally makes it into the bedroom, Patrick feels dirty, disgusted, and embarrassed. He crawls in, clothes still on, as being left exposed and venerable was one of the last things he wanted to do.

_“Pat?”_

He closes his eyes, blocking out Jonny’s voice. Patrick was left, drunk and alone in a bar bathroom like some sorority girl, silence was at least what Jonny deserved. _“Kaner, please, don’t do this. I’m sorry.”_

Fighting back tears, Patrick buries his face in the pillows, unable to sleep, as Jonny pleads at him through the night.

~

He gives up at 5 in the morning, stumbling into the bathroom with the perfect combination of being still drunk, hung over, and sleep deprived. Grateful for the rushing water to block out any noise, Patrick lets the scalding water wash away last night.

He ends up going through an entire pot of coffee before Sharpy wanders down the stairs an hour later. “You look like shit,” he says, starting another pot. “Did the coffee help at all?” When Pat shakes his head, Sharpy says, “Yeah, I figured. You were pretty gone last night. Seabs was worried about you.”

“At least that's what Duncs said,” Burish mumbles, coming into the kitchen. “They still got that weird telepathy thing going on, I see.”

“It got worse, actually. Especially since Jonny died and Seabs stopped talking to anyone,” Sharpy says, sitting down with a cup. “Everything’s kind of changed around here, still not sure if it’s good or bad.”

“Can’t imagine it’s been good,” Bur says, grabbing some orange juice out of the fridge. “So what’s on the plan for my last day in town? Anyone got any good ideas?” Patrick keeps his head down and Sharpy sips quietly on his coffee, both trying to ignore the question. Burish looks between the two of them and asks gently, “Maybe we could go visit Jonny?”

Sharpy’s head jerks up. His eyes are wide and hesitant as he glances at Patrick. “Bur, are you sure? I mean, I know you didn’t make it to the funeral but do you really…”

“Yeah, we should. I want to say goodbye just like the rest of you got to, Shooter.”

The cemetery is relatively empty, just a couple other people paying their respects. Sharpy leads the way, but Pat knows the route by heart. He’s only been there once, but that mental map is forever burned into his head.

The only change that has been made is the addition of the headstone. It sits there like a shining monument. A beautiful cream colored marble obelisk stands above Jonathan’s grave, his name carved deep in the stone.

_Jonathan Bryan Toews_

_April 29, 1988 - April 11, 2014_

_Beloved son_

_Beloved teammate_

_Beloved captain_

The words cut into Patrick’s heart as they approach, heads down and quiet. A marble hockey stick is carved into the memorial, leaned against the tall statue. “This is nice,” Burish says, knowing now’s not the time for jokes. “They did a good job picking this out. Tazer would’ve liked it.”

Sharpy nods. “Yeah, I like to think so,” he says, voice thick. Patrick glances at him out of the corner of his eye. His friend’s cheeks are splotchy and his eyes are closed. It’s such a difference from the person he left when Patrick went to Winnipeg, and even a difference from the person he came back to on Friday. Something was changing about Sharp and Patrick wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse.

Both he and Adam watch Sharpy stuff his hands deep into his pockets, head down. His lips are moving inaudibly, but Pat's not sure if he’s talking to himself or to Jonny. Whether it was asking for forgiveness in letting things get this bad, or telling himself that he can go on, Patrick can see his friend breaking down.

Burish runs a thumb over the carved letters, sighing as he presses his forehead to the stone. “This doesn’t seem real. Even now. It doesn’t seem like he’s gone. He can’t be,” he says, voice brittle with grief.

“Yeah, well, he is,” Sharpy says harshly. “Jonny’s fucking dead and there’s nothing anyone can do. You can’t do anything, and neither can I. So it doesn’t do any good to try and pretend like it didn’t happen.” His eyes are unusually dark as he lifts his head. “You didn’t see him in that bed. Just laying there. You can pretend all you want because you have no idea.”

Patrick flinches a little as Sharpy stomps off back towards the car, shoulders hunched and jaw clenched. Burish drops his hand from the headstone and sighs again. “I’ll go talk to him. You take however much time you need,” he says, taking one last look at Jonny’s grave before heading down Sharpy’s path.

In the whistling silence of the cemetery, Patrick feels Jonny with him more than ever. He can feel the tall presence, the heavy weight of loss without him. His fingers trace where Adam’s used to be, over the T and deep into the grooves of the J. His legs can’t support himself any longer and he finds himself kneeling on the damp earth, soaking his jeans.

He wants to cry but his just so exhausted. He hasn’t slept for days and it’s starting to wear him down.

After a while of sitting there, Patrick finally gets up and heads back to the car. Sharpy’s sitting bitterly in the passenger’s seat, jaw clenched and eyes on the floor. For a second, Pat’s so reminded of Brent that it almost scares him.

He gets in the backseat silently and closes the door as quietly as he can. Sharpy doesn’t even look at him as Burish gets in and starts the car. “Okay you fucking sob stories, we’re going out for fucking ice cream. I don’t care what your trainers say.”

The ice cream tastes disgusting but Patrick chokes it down anyway, avoiding the stares that Burish is passing between the two of them. He’s just hoping he’ll make it back to the house before he ends up throwing up.

Thankfully, he does. He chokes into the toilet as Burish quietly fills him a glass of water, leaving it for him on the counter before shutting the door on him. Patrick had to take care of himself now. No one was going to baby him any longer.

He chugs the glass and falls into bed, muscles screaming at him. They had practice tomorrow morning but he was so afraid that he wasn't going to be able to play. He hadn’t set foot on the ice since Jonny had died and now he had to play without him, without him even being a phone call away to break down every practice, every shot he made in a game. Patrick was all alone now with no safety net.

And that scared him the most.

~

By the time he looks over at the clock, it’s nearly a quarter to two in the morning. It’s quiet, but there are definitely voices downstairs. He pulls on a shirt and pads down the stairs as quietly as possible. He freezes when he sees Sharp and Burish’s backs, talking quietly amongst each other.

“You don’t have to act like this doesn’t effect you, man,” Burish says, hand on Sharpy’s shoulder. “The kid was your friend too. It’s okay to be pissed and sad about it. Have you even let Abby see you like this?”

A rush of shock goes through Patrick when he hears Sharpy let out a brutal sob. “Of course not. I’m supposed to keep everyone happy. I’m so tired of seeing everybody cry and fight with each other. I can’t do that too. Somebody has to be strong for them.” Sharp’s voice is thick and tired with emotion. It shakes with all the built up pressure he’s been keeping together for so long. “I’m losing my mind trying to keep it together. Tazer’s fucking dead and I have to keep making jokes and being the strong one. It’s killing me, Bur. Jonny’s dead and Seabs has turned into a hardass. The team has no one else but me.”

“That’s not your job. You need to fucking let go,” Burish says as Sharpy puts his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

“I can’t, you don’t understand. Every night I get up in the middle of the night to go watch my girls. I get up and watch Abby, make sure she’s breathing.” Sharpy makes a low, pained noise. “I have nightmares where I see Jonny laying on that hotel room bed. I blink and then there’s Abby’s face. There she is, dead eyes and dead skin,” Sharpy says brokenly before making a soft retching noise. “I can’t do this anymore. If I see her like that again, I’m gonna-“

Sharpy breaks down into sobs again, life falling to pieces.

He looks at Burish, tear streaks marked into his face like scars. He shakes his head despondently, choking out, “I _have_ to keep them safe. I just _have_ to.”

“You have two beautiful, healthy girls, and a beautiful, _healthy_ wife. You are strong, Sharpy. You wouldn’t let anything happen to those girls, or Abby. I know that and the girls of this house know that. I know you couldn’t protect Jonny but you will protect your family. Your nightmares are all in your head.”

Sharpy’s voice is quiet as he says, “Kaner’s were too but I don’t think they are anymore.”

“You got to worry about yourself before you worry about Kaner. The kid’s going to be fucked up long after he leaves here, you and I both know that. You do what you can while he’s here but killing yourself for him and the team isn’t going to bring Jonny back.”

Sharpy wipes his face and buries his head in his knees. Adam combs through his hair, trying to calm his friend as best he could. There was nothing more Burish could do but console and be there for him. After years of friendship, he knew that, sometimes, the things that weren’t said carried just as much weight as trying to verbally work through the situation. And, because of that, Adam stays silent.

Patrick feels like he’s intruding on a very private moment between two friends, so he gets up as slowly as possible to make his way back up the stairs. But he freezes when he sees Adam’s eyes catch him.

Patrick’s body grows cold, numbness spreading through his body like ice. He tenses, being prepared to run, run anywhere, for when Burish alerts Sharpy that they’re being watched. But it never happens. Adam just jerks his head towards the upstairs, motioning Patrick to go back. Patrick immediately goes, leaving Sharpy’s breakdown behind him.

The door to the guest room closes softly and Patrick flips the desk lamp on quietly. He digs into his bag and pulls out the one thing he hasn’t touched since leaving Winnipeg. Jonny’s diary. There has to be something in here. Something in the pages that will give him strength to try and make sense of this. He tries to push the noises downstairs out of his head as he smoothes over the cover. The small book creaks gently as he flips halfway through the book, looking for dates.

He reads through teenage ramblings about hockey and fishing, nothing he already didn’t know before. Patrick smiles over passages during boarding school. He brushes tears away at Jonny’s lamenting, lonely scrawls about missing his family. He stops at one, missing his boyfriend more than ever.

_August 3rd, 2004_

_Someone was asking about playing up in Canada and I thought about the Junior Flyers again. Man, it seems like forever ago. I wonder how Pat’s doing? I kind of miss him and feel stupid for saying that. He's probably met someone else since then. It’s been 3 years already. He’s such a great guy. Anyone would be lucky to have him. Maybe I’ll have Maman write to his mom and ask for his phone number. I should call him sometime. If he even remembers me._

There was so much he didn't know. So much he had missed. He had missed all those feelings Jonny had, all those teenage dreams he had been without. Patrick spends the next hour reading through his love’s thoughts, memorizing every word on every page.

And then he gets to the end. Then, there’s nothing. Just a small _“I got drafted!”_ on the last entry. There’s a four blank pages left and Patrick’s fingers shake as he flips through them. There had to be more, there just had to be.

He gets to the last page and, there it is. One final entry.

_May 25th, 2014_

_It’s weird to say, but something’s wrong. Usually visiting my parents’ house is fine, but Pat’s asleep in bed right now and I can’t sleep. I had a dream a week ago that I was floating above my body. That I wasn’t in it anymore. I couldn’t shake it when I woke up. It’s like a dark cloud floating over my head that just won’t go away. I want to tell Pat but I don’t want him to worry about me. I don’t think it's anything, but it just feels like something bad is going to happen. I just wonder what._

He knew. Jonny knew this whole time and didn’t tell him. He knew something bad was going to happen and kept it a secret from him, from the team, from everyone. Jonathan always a weird sense of things and was usually right about his intuitions. And he was, especially this time.

There’s a soft knock at the door before it opens a crack. “Kaner? It’s me,” Burish says, poking his head inside. “Can I come in?” Patrick nods as Bur comes in to sit on the bed. “So… You heard everything, didn’t you?”

Patrick shakes his head, avoiding his eyes.

“But I know you heard enough. Sharpy’s having a hard time, just like the rest of us. Don’t think any less of him, okay? You’re his rookie. You and his family are all he’s got left. He feels pretty damn alone right now,” Adam says, trying to give him a smile. “We’re going to head out to the airport in a few hours to drop me off. So I’m not going to be there to help him pick up the pieces. Go easy on him, okay?”

Patrick nods and lets Burish wrap an arm around his shoulder. “And go easy on yourself too, okay? Like I told Sharpy, it’s okay to let people know you’re upset. You don’t have to hide all the time.”

He knows he doesn’t have to, but it makes it easier. But he finally knows what happens when you keep it bottled up for so long. Sharpy was an excellent example of it. Patrick sighs, nodding as he finally meets Burish’s eyes. Burish gets up to hug him goodbye, saying, “I’ll catch you later, Peeks. Keep your chin up and take care of yourself. Playoffs will come sooner than you think. You have to win.”

Waving goodbye as Burish shuts the door, his words echo in his head. You have to win. And they do. They have to win to prove that they can overcome. They have to win to prove that sadness will not prevail. They have to win for Jonny.

He lays on the bed, thinking everything over until he hears Sharpy’s voice say through a crack in the door, “Peeks, I’m dropping Bur off at the airport. I’ll be back later. We’ll talk about practice then, okay?”

As Patrick rolls over, Sharpy closes the door and heads back downstairs. Burish stands by the door, suitcase in hand. “Okay, Sharpshooter, you ready to go? Is Kaner coming?” he asks.

Shaking his head, Sharpy says, “No, I didn’t expect him to. But we should get going anyway. I don’t want you to miss your flight and have to get stuck with you for another day.” But he smiles and elbows Burish in the ribs cheekily. They head out to the car quickly, tossing Adam’s suitcase in the backseat. “Did you want to pick up breakfast on the way?”

Adam shrugs a little, climbing in. “Only if you want to. Might be cutting it close to departure though. Like you said, I don’t want to miss my flight and be stuck with you another day.”

Sharpy laughs a little, pulling out of the driveway. “Thank god you don’t live in the same city anymore. I’d probably get sick of that snarkiness of yours in a week,” he says, smile fading a little. He gets on the highway to O’Hare as the silence seeps into the car.

The airport arrives quicker than he’d like, honestly, and they sit in the car for a minute before Adam says, “I should probably get going. Security is always shitty here.”

Nodding, Sharpy mutters, “Yeah, it is. I’ll help you with your bag.” He knows he doesn’t really need to, but the car is stifling right now. They both get out and, once Bur’s suitcase is out and on the sidewalk, stand there awkwardly, hands in pockets. Sharpy kicks him a little, saying quietly, “Hey Bur, thanks for-“

But he doesn’t get the chance to finish. Adam wraps him in a huge hug, hands fisting the neck of his jacket. “Shut up Sharpy. You don’t need to say thanks for anything. You’re the one that should be hearing thank you more than anyone, even if no one says it. Just remember what I told you last night and don't give up hope. Things will be hard but you’re stronger than that.”

Sharpy holds on like his best friend is all he has. In a way, Burish is. He has Abby and his girls, but nobody has seen him like this and it’s not like anyone ever will. He has to be the strong one. He has to.

“I’m sorry about what I said. I’d never get sick of you. I miss you being in Chicago, man.”

Adam smiles and messes up his hair. “I know. I miss being here too. You and your girls should visit Cali sometime. It’s nice out there. Less snow.”

Sharpy waves goodbye as the rotating doors swing through and Burish is out of sight, lost in the long lines of the airline traffic.

It's a long, lonely drive home, and Sharpy keeps the radio off.

The house is even quieter. Nobody’s up yet, not even the girls and Abby. He trudges upstairs, ears picking up the quiet conversation at the end of the hall. Sharp leans in close to the door and listens. It’s definitely Patrick’s voice. He’s glad they replaced the squeaky doors as he cracks it open a sliver. Patrick is sitting on the floor next to the window, eyes fixed on the dimming sunrise.

“Jonny, are you there? It’s me, Patrick. I know this still feels weird for both of us, but it’s probably good. It didn’t feel right seeing you but not talking to you last night.” Patrick pauses and lets out a small, sad laugh. “I didn’t mean to not talk to anybody. All I wanted was to hear you answer back. And since I knew that wasn’t going to happen, I just didn’t have the words.”

Sharp can feel his throat begin to clench. Patrick hadn’t said a word to anyone in almost two weeks. And here he was, quietly mourning in his own way. But he knows that Patrick hasn’t seen Jonny and he certainly can’t hear him. Sharp doesn’t really want to interrupt, but he knows he has to make sure Pat knows where he’s going, and hopefully get him out of the house.

He pushes the door open a little more and clears his throat. Pat flinches and whips his head around, expression dropping. “Hey Peeks,” Sharp murmurs, smiling gently. “I’m going to practice now, do you want to come? I know this is the first practice since… you know… But nobody is going to judge you if you don’t want to go.”

Patrick stares at the ground for a minute or two then finally stands up and heads towards Sharp. “So, is that a yes?” he asks hopefully. Pat nods carefully, the veil going over his eyes once again. “Okay, yeah, just meet me downstairs in half an hour.” All Pat does is move silently to his suitcase for clean clothes.

Sharpy waits for five minutes until Abby wanders down from upstairs in her bathrobe. “Hey sweetie,” she says, kissing him lightly. She sits down next to him and studies his face. “I was going to ask if you were okay, but it’s clear you’re not,” Abby says worriedly. When he doesn’t answer, she looks at him insistently. “Patrick…”

“I’m fine Abby, really. I’m just worried about Kaner. He’s still not talking to anyone, and I caught him in his room talking to Jonny. I’m worried he’s started to lose it,” Sharp says, worried lines tracing his forehead. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face before turning towards Abby, grin plaster back on. “Besides, it’ll be good for Pat to get back on the ice today. A kid like him, he needs the rink to make sense of things. Jonny was like that…”

Abby strokes his hair and murmurs, “I know you miss him; I do too. Sometimes this feels like some big joke and Jonathan’s going to walk in and shout ‘Surprise!’” She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her bathrobe. Turning to her husband with bleary eyes, Abby smiles and says, “But it’s good the guys have you to take over what Jonny left. Just remember that you need to let someone take care of you too.”

Sharp picks at his pants. “I don’t really want to fill the space Jonny left,” he mutters, refusing to meet his wife’s eyes. “I’m not Tazer and I can’t be his replacement. I can’t be what he was for everyone. And Kaner will never…” He freezes as the stairs creak. Patrick stands at the top, eyes dark. Sharp flips his expression and gives him a grin. “You ready to go, Peeks?”

Patrick just puts his hood up and shoves his hands deep into his pockets, slinking down the stairs. Sharpy kisses Abby and grabs his keys while she rubs Pat’s shoulder when he passes her with his head down. “I’ll see you boys later.”

The air is cool and damp, water still hanging in puddles in the lawn and driveway. Pat kicks a small rock off the walkway, watching it bounce off into the grass.

The chunking of the garage door sounds and Patrick knows he’s only making the motions as he heads to Sharpy’s car. Everything he does just feels like a routine he’s been stuck in. Body moving but brain refusing to cooperate. He almost doesn’t even notice being in the car until Sharp is reaching across to buckle him in. The car starts up and Patrick starts picking at the straps on his hand braces. _Riiiiip. Riiiiip_.

Sharpy looks over and notices the panicked movements. “I’m sure you’ll be able to play with those hands. You can move your fingers,” he says, pulling out of the driveway. _Riiiiip._ The roads are relatively empty, with it being so early. The velcro scritches loudly, back and forth as he adjusts and readjusts the straps. “Patrick…” _Riiiiip. Riiiiip._ “Peeks, _stop_.”

Patrick freezes, fingers still on his straps. He lets out a shaky breath and tucks his hands under his legs. Sharpy’s jaw is hard, struggling to relax in the tense car. Patrick ducks his head, refusing to look at his friend. “Patrick, we need to talk.” The tension builds. “I knew about you and Jonny.”

No.

His head jerks up, eyes wide. He looks at Sharp, panicked, almost unbearably nervous. The cars whip by, too fast for him to try and get out of the car now. Patrick should’ve said no. He should’ve stayed in bed. He should’ve stayed inside, kept talking to Jonny, not letting himself get pulled out into the world that was only there to rip his heart out again. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

“I know you and Jonny were dating. Or whatever you wanted to call it. And I know it was going on for a while. Since rookie year, right? You were in love.”

Sharpy’s voice is calm and reassuring, trying to keep the situation under control. “I know you were in bed with him when you found him. The other bed wasn’t even used, Patrick. I don’t think anyone else noticed, they were too busy worrying about Jonny. That’s why you haven’t been talking. That’s why you’ve shut down from everything. I know this is going to be hard, but you need to tell the guys.”

The AC kicks on quietly.

You don’t know anything. That’s what he’s dying to say. Whatever Sharpy thinks he knows, it’s not even close. Nobody really knew what he and Jonathan had. Nobody knows the sleepless nights, nobody knows the private conversations, nobody knows what it was like. Sharpy had no idea.

His jaw clenches hard enough to send a shiver down his spine, teeth mashing together. Patrick can feel his entire body trembling with anger and fear. It builds in his legs, drowning his organs and lungs, worse than guilt and sadness. The words bubble and boil until finally he spins around, opening his mouth.

And Sharpy’s just sitting there, having pulled the car over a while ago, eyebrow raised. This is what he wanted. He wanted the rise, the anger, any feeling other than numbness. He wanted Patrick to say something, anything, even if it meant breaking his spirit. Patrick closes his mouth, narrows his eyes, and turns back to the window. He wasn’t going to play this game.

“Damn it Kaner, when are you going to stop this?” Sharpy asks harshly, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. “You can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later you need to feel something. Jonny’s fucking gone, kid, pretending the world doesn’t exist isn’t going to bring him back. I’m here, your family is here, our team is here, you’re here. Jonny’s not. I know you loved him and I know you miss him but you can’t keep beating yourself up for something that wasn’t your fault. It’s only going to drive you crazy, Pat.”

He was already going crazy. For everything Sharpy apparently knew, he didn’t know that. He couldn’t see the madness behind the mask.

The car starts up again as Patrick carefully unlocks the door. In one swift motion, he unbuckles his seatbelt and rushes out the car door. The car pulls forward an inch but instantly stops. He keeps walking even as the door slams and Sharpy yells, “KANER! Kaner, get back here!”

He’s not going to stop. He can’t. He can’t be in that car anymore. He keeps walking, even when he hears footsteps pounding behind him. “Peeks, get back in the car!” Sharpy grabs his shoulder, trying to drag him back. Somehow, Patrick makes a break for it and tries to run along the side of the road. But weeks of eating little and sleeping less has worn his body down and Sharpy catches up with him quickly.

His feet are kicked out from under his body as Sharp tackles him into the dirt.

Struggling and kicking, Patrick gets hauled up over Sharpy’s shoulder, carried back to the car. He cracks his head on the doorframe as Sharpy tosses him into the passenger’s seat. Nursing his forehead, he flinches when the car door slams again, Sharpy getting in angrily.

“You ever fucking do that again and I’m leaving you on the side of the highway.”

Patrick pulls his body closer to the window and listens to Sharpy sigh frustratedly, putting the car in drive and continuing to their drive to the rink. Sharp had given up the fight, one that was never going to be won in the first place.

The locker room is eerily quiet, everybody just getting their equipment on quietly. Patrick can tell that Sharpy’s absolutely pissed, throwing his jacket in his locker. Saad looks at him suspiciously, but Patrick just shakes his head and he doesn’t press the issue.

Finally, he’s allowed to get his hand braces off. It’s the best feeling in the world being able to move his hands the way that he wants to. “Now, take it easy out there,” Michael says, packing the braces away. “We need those soft hands of yours out there.”

By the time they get on ice, it’s still quiet enough to hear the pucks drop on ice. Thankfully, they’ve closed practices for the foreseeable future so the stands are empty and silent.

They run drills and Patrick finds himself shooting to open ice. He’s so used to passing to Jonny and anticipating where he’s going to be, that, now he’s not there, doesn’t work anymore. After the third time he does it, he can hear Q barking for him to come to the bench. He’s shaking as he skates over, head down. He’s so tired of disappointing everyone.

But Q is surprisingly calm with him, hand on his shoulder. “Kaner, you need to keep your head up and look at your passes. I know it’s going to be hard getting used to this, but we can’t go into a game like this, okay? Head up and eyes open.”

By the end of practice, Patrick wants to go home and cry. But Q has other ideas for him. He’s halfway out the door when the older man grabs his arm, saying, “Kaner, we need to talk for a second.” They go into the back as Q says, “It’s about lines. Now that Jonny’s gone, we need to do some shuffling. I know you had a hard time centering when Jonny was out with his concussion, but I need you to step up with Sharpy and Hoss. We’re recalling Teevo from Rockford to replace you for playoffs. I don’t know if it’s going to stay like this after, but we’ll have offseason to figure that out. Can I count on you?"

He tries looking at Q but can't even meet his coach’s eyes. Patrick can’t replace Jonny, he just can’t. That's just not fair to ask of him. He’s already had to give him up, Coach can’t expect him to take his place.

Shaking his head, Patrick rips his arm away from Q, backing away. “Kaner, we need you to step up. Jonny would want-“ But he’s out the door before Q can say another word. He’s out of the parking lot before Sharpy can even stop him. He’s not going with him tonight. Patrick’s going home.

It’s takes him 15 minutes less than it should to walk home, but he’s desperate to get off the streets.

By the time he gets into his condo, it feels like he’s in a cage. The large windows were something that he had always liked but, right now, he feels like they’re the windows to a zoo; his grief was the main sideshow to the city. So, to escape, he pulls the curtains closed, blocking out the city and the light, and pulls his hood up to weather the night.

Patrick’s barely home for 3 hours when his phone buzzes with an email from Sharpy. The subject reads: _Open this or I’ll sic Abby on you_ , which is usually Sharpy’s code for urgency. Everybody who knows Sharpy knows not to mess with Abby. When he opens it, he realizes that it’s sent to the entire team.

_Guys, I know everybody has been saying they’re fine or whatever, but we’re not. We can’t do this alone or we’ll never make it past the first game. I’ve set up a team therapy session at my house, Tuesday at 10am. I’ve already talked to Q and Bowman and they think it’s a good idea. Nobody but the team will be there, so we need everyone. Also, I hate to do this, but whoever doesn’t show up will get a talking to from my wife. Miss you all and see you in a couple days._

_Xoxo, Sharpy_

Group therapy. It wasn’t such a bad idea the more Patrick thought about it. There were still so many emotions, so much tension, between everyone on the team, and so much still left unsaid around Jonny’s death. All everyone had to do was look at most of them on the team to understand that. He was a shell of who he was, Seabs was hell bent on destroying his life, Bolly was going to drink himself into a coma before playoffs could even begin, and Sharpy was pretending to have all of it under control.

~

Monday night and Tuesday morning passes by in a deadened blur as Patrick, once again, sets out for Sharpy’s house. It’s almost like he hasn’t left, in all actuality he really hasn’t, as he pulls up behind Leddy’s weirdly small car and gets out. There are cars all the way around the cul-de-sac and down the block. Patrick’s glad he managed to find a close spot, his legs couldn’t carry him far.

The door is unlocked and he walks in to find his team cluttered in the living room. Saad and Shawzy are stretched out on the floor, giggling stupidly to themselves, while the Swedes flock to the kitchen, quickly talking in their native tongue.

“Kaner!” Shawzy screeches at him, grabbing at his foot. “Come down here with the kids!”

A small smile tugs at his face as he eases himself down, back propped against the bottom of the sofa. He tries to ignore the subtly worried look Saader throws him over Shawzy’s shoulder, but it doesn’t really work well. “You okay man?” Saad asks, raising an eyebrow.

Patrick shrugs and lets Shawzy start rambling on about Chaunette’s family freaking out about the elopement.

“Is everyone here?” he hears Sharpy call from the kitchen. The doorbell rings and Duncan walks in, followed closely by Seabs and a well dressed woman Patrick’s never seen before. _That must be the therapist_ , he thinks.

“Sorry we were late,” Duncan says. “We passed Bolly walking this way and offered him a ride. Said he gave the cab driver the wrong directions and wanted to walk. Seemed pretty gone. He’ll probably be here in 10 or so minutes. Said we could start without him.”

Sharpy rolls his eyes and shrugs, saying, “Okay, everyone? Living room please!” He goes up to the woman and shakes her hand. “Thanks for coming ma’am. I’m Patrick, the one who called you.”

She smiles, saying sweetly. “My pleasure, Patrick. And please, call me Kendra. Ma’am sounds too formal.” The woman sits in a chair at the head of the group, and says, “Thanks for having me, everyone. My name’s Dr. Brown and I specialize in group and family grief therapy. You may call me Dr. Brown or Kendra, whichever you feel comfortable with.” As everyone takes seats, Patrick moves to let Hjammer sit behind him. “Now, we’re going to go around and introduce ourselves. I know you all know each other very well, but I’d like your full names and whatever you’d prefer to be called.”

Sharpy begins with, “I’m Patrick Sharp, but you can call me Sharpy.”

They get around the circle to Brent, sitting stuffed in a corner, almost behind Duncan. He’s burning a hole through the floor, jaw set hard, and doesn’t answer when it’s his turn. Duncan sighs, so done already, saying, “This is Brent Seabrook, Seabs or Brent is fine, right?” Seabs looks at him darkly, the words passing between them unsaid.

And then Kendra nods at him. His name catches in his throat. He’s been introducing himself since he first started getting recognition on his peewee teams, but now here he was, grown and surrounded by his friends, and he can’t even mumble out, “Kane.”

But Saad, god bless Jonny’s rookie, covers him and says, “Patrick Kane. Patrick’s probably best.” Brandon gives him a small smile.

The door creaks open and Bollig stumbles in. “Well hello, men,” he says, alcohol lacing his voice. Kendra eyes him, taking in the twitch in his hands, the sloppiness in his feet. She motions to a spot on the couch and Bolly flops down, nudging Crow with a lopsided grin. “So, what’d I miss?”

“We were just introducing ourselves. I assume you’re Bolly?” she asks. Bollig lets out a heavy laugh. “Yes ma’am, Brandon Bollig at your service,” he says, saluting her.

Kendra leans forward and begins. “So Sharp let me know a bit of background on why I’m here. I understand your team captain died of a brain injury after a game a couple weeks ago, correct?” Everyone nods and she continues. “And you guys have a couple more days before the next game. Sharp said that everyone has been dealing with it badly and that he’s worried about some of you. So here’s how this is going to go. When someone wants to say something, please just raise your hand. And we need to respect the person talking by giving them our undivided attention, okay?”

Once again, everybody nods. Patrick watches Niklas raise his hand quietly, sandwiched on a far wall between Marcus and Johnny. “I’ve started having nightmares. It’s hard for me to get out of bed in the morning because I’m up all night fighting off thoughts that I’m next. I just had a baby. I can’t leave him or Elina. I’m scared to play and I’ve never been that way before.”

“So you’re scared that what happened to Jonathan could happen to you?” Kendra asks.

Hjammer nods, saying, “I have too much to leave behind.”

Patrick feels the anger boil in his stomach. Jonny left behind just as much, if not more. Just because he wasn’t married, just because he didn’t have a kid. Somehow, his thoughts seem louder than just in his head. It takes Patrick a second to realize Sharpy was thinking the same thing, only aloud.

Hjammer seems to draw back a little, saying, “I know Jonny left people behind, I’m just saying it’s hard when we’re still here and he isn’t.”

“I have dreams where I wake up in a body bag.” Everybody whips their heads to Crow, who’s siting there stoically. He turns to Kendra. “I know how Nik’s feeling. It’s like having a black cloud surrounding everything you do, no matter where you go,” he says quietly.

“It’s hard having to face death so early,” Hossa says. “When my friends plane crash, it was hard to think that they were gone, but you remember none of us live forever.”

“Marian is right,” Kendra says. “Unexpectedly losing a friend at such a young age is hard. Sharp said he was 25, that’s so young. It’s easy to feel like you’ve been robbed, or that it’s not fair.”

“It’s _not_ fair,” Duncan says bitterly, eyes tearing up. “We _were_ robbed. Doughty went after him for scoring, and now Jonny’s dead. It’s fucking hard not to be pissed off. Jonny didn’t deserve this.”

His black hole begins to swallow him as Kendra begins working thorough everyone’s feelings. Patrick blanks out, staring at the floor numbly. He comes in and out of the discussion to catch bits and pieces of it. Saader fucking crying because he feels so guilty over not being able to do more. Steeger saying he broke up with his girlfriend. Hossa saying he should’ve been watching for more signs of injury.

But it’s when Sharpy brings up Bollig’s drinking that Pat really snaps back in. “At least I’m fucking dealing with it,” Bolly snaps, throwing Sharpy an annoyed look.

“Drinking until you pass out isn’t ‘dealing with it,’ Bran,” Corey says calmly. “That’s part of the reason I asked you to go home after 2 nights at my place. You were falling over yourself all day and I couldn’t handle that. Jonathan had just died and all you wanted to do was drink and ask me to drive you to the liquor store.”

Bollig turns to his friend, saying, “So what if I’m not dealing with it like everyone else? I’m still dealing with it.”

Kendra says, “Now Brandon, your friends are worried about you. Substance abuse just covers up the problems instead of letting your brain and emotions work through themselves. I know wanting to feel good at a time like this is enticing, but alcohol can’t solve the problems you want to run away from.”

“Sharpy’s not fucking dealing with anything and nobody’s saying shit about him. It’s like he didn’t even care about Jonny.”

Patrick flinches when Sharpy shoves at Bolly’s shoulder, saying, “Calm down, you miserable bastard. Maybe you should give Kaner some of your booze. You clearly have enough happy go lucky emotion-avoiding juice for the both of you.”

While Bolly is still sloppy from being drunk for the past two weeks, he could pick a fight in his sleep. Nobody can react when he gets a nice left hook to Sharpy’s head, knocking him off the couch arm and onto the floor. “Fucking… quit making jokes. You don’t give a shit… about anyone but yourself..." he grunts out, throwing punches before Sharpy tosses him off. “Told you,” Bolly says as Crow holds him back. “Doesn’t even fucking care about Jonny being dead.”

Sharp wipes blood from the corner of his mouth before screaming, “He was my fucking Captain _too_!” His voice is raw and wrecked as he pushes his hair out of his face. This was the first time any of them, other than Patrick, had seen Sharpy anything other than joking and happy. “He was my _friend_! My _brother_! I would do _anything_ to bring him back! But I _can’t_! And I can’t just sit around while all of you beat yourselves up over something that wasn’t your fault!”

He grabs the front of Bolly’s shirt and whispers dangerously, “Do you think this hasn’t fucking ruined me too? Being drunk all day has made you delusional, Bollig. Because if you think I’m not broken up about this, you’re fucking crazy.”

There’s a beat of silence, everyone frozen in shock. Sharpy and Bolly stand off in the middle, challenging and sizing each other up.

“Fuck this, I’m leaving,” Bollig says, ripping himself out of Corey and Sharpy’s grips. “I’m fucking done.”

The door slams as Sharp sits in the now empty seat on the couch. Kendra looks a little shaken but composes herself, asking, “Sharp, it seems that making jokes is something you like to do. Why is it-“

“Kendra, with all due respect, I know that this may seem like a facade, but my best friend was in town over the weekend and he helped put some things into perspective. I don’t think you could do more,” Sharpy says, cutting her off. He levels his breathing and runs a shaking hand through his hair. “I probably deserved that though, making jokes about Kaner like that.”

“Why?”

Everyone immediately looks uncomfortable. Patrick doesn’t even want to glance at them, he just wants to disappear.  “Well,” Sharp begins, rubbing the back of his neck, “Pat’s been nearly catatonic since Jonathan died. He won’t eat or drink much of anything unless we make him, and even then it’s not a lot. He also hasn’t said a word to anybody. He won't talk.”

Patrick’s black hole has reached the edges of his mind and all he can see is darkness. Kendra’s voice sounds like white noise as she says, “Patrick, would you like to talk about anything? This is a safe space, anything you say here stays confidential. It seems like your teammates are concerned for you.”

The white noise grows until it’s deafening. Patrick becomes hyperaware of everyone staring at him patiently. Jonathan’s voice is clear as day, whispered softly in his ear. _“It’s okay, superstar. Tell them. They’re ready.”_

“I loved him.” His voice sounds like sandpaper, scratching its way out of his throat. Patrick stares at the floor, body beginning to shake.

“Yeah, Pat, we all did…” Corey begins, studying him carefully. When Patrick doesn’t meet his eyes, he murmurs, “Wait a minute, that’s not how you meant it, was it?” He shakes his head.

“Are you fucking _serious_?”

The voice is harsh and hurt and comes from entirely too close to Patrick. It’s Shawzy. “Kaner, tell me you’re joking,” he says, looking at him, almost in disbelief. When he shakes his head again, Shawzy says, “How long? How long have you been keeping this a fucking secret?”

It takes all his strength for Pat to say meekly, “Six years. We were dating for six years. But I loved him since we played together when we were kids.”

“Shawzy…” Saad begins, and it’s only that can Patrick look at his rookie. Andrew’s face is disappointed, hurt, and, most of all, pissed. It’s the horrific look of betrayal. He’s only seen Shaw like this in rare circumstances and Patrick never thought he’d be a reason. “Shawzy, don’t be mad at Kaner.”

“Did _you_ fucking know?!”

Brandon looks at him uncomfortably, trying not to add to the betrayal as he says, “Shawzy… nobody told me. I kind of just… guessed. And was right. I thought you had figured it out, being Kaner’s rookie and all…” He stops when Andrew’s anger grows. “I’m not the only one who picked up on it…” Saad mutters, looking around at everyone else.

Pat can see that, clearly, there were a handful of guys that did know. Bicks, Sharpy of course, Seabs looking nonplussed, and Duncan. Crow has his eyes set hard on Patrick, the Swedes are whispering heatedly with each other, and Hossa just has a surprised look on his face. Patrick knew this day would come, but he didn’t imagine it was going to be like this, with one half of them gone. There was supposed to be congratulations and handshakes and hugs, not pained silence.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters weakly, avoiding everyone’s eyes. More than ever, Patrick wishes Jonny was here.

“Why didn’t you tell us? Do Q and Bowman even know?” Crow spits, anger clearly there. “You’ve been with most of us for years, Kaner. I don’t see why you had to make it a big fucking secret.” Patrick winces at his goalie’s tone, but knows he’s right. It wasn’t really a secret though. They followed closely on a “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. And nobody had ever asked.

“I’m sorry, really. It was just… complicated…”

Corey is about to open his mouth when Sharpy cuts him off, saying, “Leave the kid alone, Crow. He’s been through enough hell without you getting pissy.”

And then the arguments erupt. Half a dozen defending both sides and Kendra in the middle trying to maintain peace. Patrick feels trapped and even more alone as the tension in the room builds. He clenches his hands over his ears, amid the din, until…

“Shut the fuck up.”

Everybody freezes mid argument to face the voice in the corner. Brent sits there, still brooding, but looks up when he has the attention he was trying to get.

“Everybody shut the fuck up and stop fighting. It’s Jonny’s fucking _birthday_ today.”

And then everything stops. They all hang their heads in shame, muttering apologies to each other and Patrick. He takes them with a grain of salt, but it still feels good to hear encouraging words from his team.

The session goes on for another two hours, but Patrick can really see it helping. They’re coming back together as a team, finally. They’ve got a long road ahead of them, but each step is going in the right direction.

When the session ends, Bickell pulls him into an enormous hug, saying with a smile, “Now I gotta pay Amanda the $100 I owe her. I don’t know how she knew, but she did.” But his voice is more somber as he whispers, Patrick close, “I’m really sorry about today though. You shouldn’t have to go through it alone. Juliette misses you, by the way.”

As everyone begins to file out, Shawzy still won’t look at him. “Shawzer, please…” he tries, nudging him by the couch. When Andrew ignores him once more, Patrick says, “Andy, please…”

Shaw whips around, hurt still evident in his voice as he says, “Just _stop_ it, Kaner. You didn’t trust me with this. I’m your fucking _rookie_ , man. I trust you with everything. It just sucks.” He meets Patrick’s eyes. “It’s going to take a while to get back to where it was before. I’m sorry about Tazer, but you’re not the only one who misses him.”

“Don’t worry,” Saad whispers to Patrick as Shawzy stalks out, “Leddy and I’ll turn him around.” The young man bumps their shoulders together. “Keep your head up, Kaner, okay? It’s good to have you talking again. We all missed you.”

Patrick forces a smile out, saying quietly, “I missed you guys too. A lot.”

He hangs around on Sharpy’s couch for a little bit, listening to Sharpy talk to Kendra about payment. Closing his eyes, he try to relax and wipe the nervousness from his body. He’s kept the tenseness in his body for so long that it’s nearly turned him to stone. He needs to just let go.

“Kaner.”

Opening his eyes, Patrick looks up to see Seabs looming over him. “Kaner, get up,” the older man says, surprisingly gentle for how shut off he’s been. Warily, Patrick stands up, jaw tense. But Brent doesn’t say anything, just wraps Patrick in the biggest hug he’s had in a long time. He lets Brent hold him up, body slumped tiredly. “I’m sorry,” Seabs says. “I was a dick to you and Sharpy and everyone. Jonny was like a little brother to me. But I forgot that he was a lot more to other people. I’m sorry.”

“It’s good to have you back, Seabsy,” Patrick says lightly. “You were kind of scaring everyone these past few weeks.” He pulls back from his teammate to see a guilty, dark expression on his face. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that…”

Seabs’ mouth pulls a little and he winces, saying, “No, I know. Duncs and I are headed to my house after this; I got a lot of shit to fix with Dayna. I can’t even believe I nearly hit her. I don’t know what happened. I just hope that she’ll take me back.”

“You’ve got a lot of groveling to do,” Duncan says, walking up behind Brent and clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, your lady and baby are waiting.”

Patrick waves a little as they leave, being surrounded by silence once again. Sharpy comes over to him, sitting on the couch as he says, “Well, that was an ordeal. You did a good job, Peeksy. Two weeks is a long time to go not talking to anyone.”

Patrick ducks his head, muttering, “I was talking a little when I was in Winnipeg. And I talk to Jonny every night.” He sighs a little. “It seems to help a bit, like Jonny still knows what’s going on. Like he’s still here with me.”

Giving him a look, Sharp says, “Kaner, you know you’ll have to let him go eventually.”

“I know,” he says, slouching down. “I just don’t want to forget him. And if I let him go, that’s what’ll happen.”

By the time he ends up leaving Sharpy’s house, it’s dark outside. He picks up a cup of coffee from a gas station on his way home. He puts entirely too much sugar in it and ends up throwing it away when he gets up to his condo. He really shouldn’t drink it anyway, he still hasn’t gotten the best sleep schedule yet.

Which is what leaves him still awake 3 hours later, tossing and turning in bed.

“Jonny? Are you there? It’s me, Patrick.” There’s no answer except the quiet hush of his breathing. “I just want to say Happy Birthday. I wish I could’ve helped celebrate it with you today. We all miss you. Brent’s finally started relaxing again. Says he’s going to fix things with Dayna…” There’s still just silence. “I told everyone today. The team knows. It was hard without you being there, Jonny.”

He gets no answer still. It hurts not having Jonny talk back to him. He’s so used to the back and forth late night conversations that the one sidedness feels like a knife to the chest.

Patrick pulls the sheets up close to his chin and looks out over the city. He rolls over and checks the clock. It’s almost midnight; 1am in Buffalo. His mom was probably asleep already. But he can still try. He unplugs his phone and dials her number.

It rings for 23 seconds before a sleepy voice answers, “Patrick?”

He’s so tired, head swimming exhaustedly. And Patrick can hear it in his voice as he says quietly, “Mom?” He pauses, taking in a shaky breath. “Can you come to Chicago? I miss you.”

“Is everything okay, sweetie? I can get a ticket for as soon as possible, but I may not be able to get in until next week. What’s wrong?”

Patrick tries to keep it together, but he knows he’s slipping as he says, “It’s Jonny’s birthday today. I miss him so much, Mom.”

And he loves his mom so much when she says, “I know, baby, I know. Do you want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep? Like we used to do when you were in Michigan?” He mutters a quiet, ‘Mhmm’ and listens to her murmur softly into the phone. He falls asleep quickly, with the last thing he remembers her saying as, “I love you, Patrick.”

~

When he wakes up, he feels like he got punched in the stomach, the entire day’s worth of emotions finally hitting him. He goes in to the bathroom and throws up, fists clenched and hair matted to his face. By the time he gets up and showers, he knows what he has to do. He finally has to get the courage to go clean out Jonny’s condo, to package up at least part of his love.

He packs his car full of boxes and heads over early in the morning. He knows he should probably ask one of the guys for help, but he needed this catharsis. This was going to be _his_ therapy.

The condo is dark and musty, having been unoccupied for nearly 3 weeks. Patrick has to hold the doorknob for almost 4 minutes before he’s sure he can actually go in. And he’s not at all prepared for what he gets when he does.

All of Jonathan’s plants, his pride and joy of a garden, had died; everything fallen over, shriveled up on the balcony. There were a couple bowls and plates sitting in the sink, put off for later. A single shirt lay forgotten on the couch. Juliette’s bowls still half full from when Bicks must’ve come to get her. Everything is still in its place form 3 weeks ago, when Jonny packed up for LA, unknowing of his own fate.

Patrick begins in the living room, carefully packing the bits and pieces of Jonny’s life away. Box after box gets piled in the corner, full of pictures, books, movies, and things that made Jonny feel like home, even in Chicago.

The kitchen takes the longest. Patrick throws out what he can and boxes up the rest of the food to take back home. He puts a box together for Juliette and Bicks, full of her bed, treats, and toys. Washing the remaining dishes, Pat wraps and packs them with care.

Bit by bit, the pressure grows in his head. Patrick has to take a break after 4 hours, flopping down on the couch tiredly. Although Jonny hadn’t been home in 3 weeks, everything still smells like him. Sweat, deodorant, and the smallest hint of cologne. It smelled like love, lust, drive, and determination. Everything Jonathan owned made him who he was and everything he was seeped into everything around him.

_“Can I lay down with you, Pat? I’ll take care of you.”_

Patrick shudders at Jonathan’s voice but nods as if heaven had opened up and Jonny could see him. He curls up on the couch, all the memories covering him like a blanket. He swears he can feel Jonny next to him, breathing slow and strong. Patrick hasn’t slept more than 10 hours since coming back from Winnipeg, and it seems like every minute, Jonny’s voice gets stronger or Patrick can feel him more. He still doesn’t see him as often as Pat would like, but the fleeting glimpses are still a start.

He only makes it about half an hour before he feels restless enough to get up and start on the one room that he was dreading from the start. The bedroom.

Patrick’s entire being is rattled the moment he steps foot in there. It’s like an earthquake to his soul. Jonny’s room here isn’t as elaborately decorated as his childhood home, but there’s still everything that Jonny is. The pictures of fish and hockey, the neatly made bed, the books scattered across the desk. There’s another picture of the two of them together, this time it was during their stint in the Junior Flyers. There they were, speckled faces and awkward bodies, but still laughing together in their oversized jerseys. It was simply framed and displayed, but it’s the only thing he can’t touch right now.

It takes Patrick a while to do the bedroom, fighting back tears with every article of clothing he packs away. All of Jonny’s suits, pants, and shirts are put away when he finds a small lump in one of the socks. He pulls out a small black leather box.

Everything in his mind goes blank as he opens it, finding a thin silver band inside, set with two square black and red stones. There are small initials engraved on the inside of the band. PK + JT. It was meant for him. 

Patrick’s brain is going a million miles an hour as he quickly calls Andrée. It takes a couple tries before she picks up, asking, “Patrick, what’s wrong?” “Maman,” he chokes out, sweaty fingers still gripping the ring. “I found a ring, Maman. He was going to marry me.” He sounds broken beyond repair. Every levee he had built had weathered every storm so far, but this had failed. “Maman?”

“Patrick, I’m sorry. I thought he hadn’t picked it up yet. It was here for the longest time. Since before Madison, mon cher,” Andrée says sadly. “He wanted to ask you after the last win but after your big fight, he wanted to know you could be responsible for a season. That you were ready.”

 _I would have married him the day I met him._ That’s what he wants to say. But there was Jonny, ever responsible Jonny, waiting for the right time to seal the deal. “He should’ve just asked me then. I was ready from day one,” Patrick manages out.

“Je sais, mon fils, but Jonathan wanted to be sure. He overthought everything, including anything about you.” And that was part of why he loved Jonny, the careful deliberation, the brain that worked as hard as his body did. But they had missed out on so much because of that.

“We lost so much time. I could’ve been married to him for a year. And now, even…”

“But you couldn’t have changed this. You couldn’t bring him back, you would’ve just hurt more. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you…” Andrée says, trying to keep it together. Patrick’s not mad, just so tired of having to find all of this out now. “Mon cher?”

“I’m here, Maman,” Patrick sighs, holding back a sob. “I just miss him too much. Every time I think I’m okay…” It tears out of his throat like a sword, sharp as steel. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this without him.”

Andrée is silent for a moment and Patrick wishes she wasn’t so far away. He wishes his own mother wasn’t so far away. He just needed someone. “Patrick, you don’t have to. He is always with you, in your heart. He will never disappear without your love, mon fils.”

Andrée is right. And Patrick knows that. Jonny was a part of his life from his preteen years and would remain his everything for years to come, if not forever. When you love someone, they never truly leave you, no matter where they go. They had joked about being traded to different coasts, but now it was the farthest coasts of all, the ones between heaven and earth.

“Should I keep it? I don’t want to give it away or sell it. I just can’t, Maman,” he says quietly.

“Then don’t, mon fils. Nobody will say a bad word if you do,” Andrée says, voice calm and reassuring. “Just keep it close to your heart where you know Jonathan will always be with you.”

“What do I say if someone sees it though? I still haven’t even told Q and Bowman.”

He can hear Andrée sigh heavily. He knows he should’ve done that before he even told the team. They have both been so supportive of him throughout the years, from Q standing by him during Madison to Bowman letting him live in his basement his rookie year. “Mon cher,” Andrée says, “you need to tell them. As soon as possible. They should hear it from you, not anyone else. I know you said some of the boys weren’t surprised; I’m sure Joel and Stan won’t be either. They’re very observant men, you know.”

This time it’s Patrick’s turn to sigh. Andrée’s right, as usual. It probably wouldn’t be a surprise “Okay Maman, I’ll call them. It’ll help distract me from packing Jonny’s stuff,” he says quietly. “It’s been really hard so far.”

“You’re doing a good thing, mon fils. I’m not sure if we’re ever going to pack Jonathan’s room here. I haven’t even been able to go in there since you left. Bryan has though. He’s been a lot stronger than I have.” Her voice is soft and sad, clearly trying to hide the still evident pain.

Patrick tries to reassure her, saying, “Maman, you’ve been stronger than I have. Stronger than a lot of us. Don’t forget that.”

He can almost hear the smile in her voice as Andrée says, “I know, Patrick. It just doesn’t feel that way sometimes.” She sighs, almost resigned to her fate. “But you could start by telling Joel and Stan. Like I said before, I’m sure they won’t be as surprised as you think.”

“Okay Maman, I’ll talk to you later. Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime trop, Patrick. Send me an email about how it goes.”

“I will, Maman. Don’t worry about me.”

He hangs up and pauses for a second. Patrick feels a hand on his shoulder and finally has the courage to dial Stan’s number. It rings for a few seconds before Stan answers, “Kaner, how’s it going kid? What do you need?”

Patrick takes a deep breath and says a little too brokenly, “Stan, I really need to talk to you…”

Stan’s voice takes a serious turn. “Hey, hey, Kaner, take a deep breath. Whatever this is, we will get through it. But I need you to be able to talk to me without breaking down. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good, now, what do you need?”

He starts from the beginning. From being 11 years old and meeting Jonny to a year later and falling in love. From rookie year to getting together to all those years of being head over heels. He doesn’t leave anything out and spills the entire 13 years of him and Jonny.

There’s an alarming silence when he finishes and he has to check that the phone call is still connected. Stan sighs and mutters offhandedly, “Jesus Christ. Kaner…”

His voice wavers as he says, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Kaner, you have nothing to be sorry about. There have been more rumors than I can count about you two, but I knew that if there was any truth to it, you two would come to me about it. I’m just a little disappointed that it took after Jonny’s death for it to happen.”

Disappointed. There it was.

“We were going to tell you. Probably after the season. Jonny just didn’t get a chance to help me tell you. I told all the guys at the therapy session on Tuesday. Some of them weren’t surprised. Sharpy knew for a while. Seemed like Seabsy, Bicks, and Saader knew too. Shawzy was pretty pissed about it. Thought I didn’t trust him or something. We did, we just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Stan scoffs a little, “You two are some of the biggest names in hockey. Anything you guys do is a big deal. Have you told Joel yet?”

Pat shrugs a little, even though he knows Bowman can’t see him. “No, I was waiting to talk to you. Andrée says I should, though. We talked a bit this afternoon. I called her when I found something while cleaning out Jonny’s condo.”

“Would you like to tell me what it is?”

There’s the worst lump in his throat as he chokes out, “I found an engagement ring. Jonny had it since before Madison. I called Andrée and she said he was waiting for us to win the Cup again. I knew that when I found that, it was going to get out eventually. Someone was going to see it sooner or later.”

“It was that serious, huh? Are you going to wear it?”

“I don’t know, Stan. I want to, but I don’t think it’s the right time yet.”

Bowman sighs a little and mutters, “Okay kid, when you decide you want to tell the public, just let me know. We’ll support you no matter what. Just be prepared for some backlash. But I want you to tell Joel yourself. It’s a conversation the two of you need to have.”

“I know,” Patrick says. “It’s just been so hard telling everyone without Jonny.”

“A lot of things have been hard without Tazer around, trust me. I’ve been trying to take care of the team, of you, of all of the shit going on with Doughty. Everyone met with Bettman and Player Safety to decide what we should do and, believe me, you can’t even imagine what happened in there,” Stan says tiredly. Patrick knows that Stan’s probably had the hardest job of all, trying to keep everything together.

“I won’t make it any harder on you, then. I’ll go call Q.”

“Good luck kid, it’ll be okay.”

Calling Q proves more nerve-wracking than calling Stan. They haven’t talked since Patrick had hit him and hadn’t seen each other since after the press conference. It was going to be hard to apologize as well as spill his heart out to his coach.

It rings twice and goes straight to voicemail. Patrick sighs. He calls again. Once again, voicemail. Trying a third time, Q finally picks up. “Yes?”

“Can we talk please? And not have you hang up on me? I’m sorry I ignored you…” Patrick says quietly.

Q sighs heavily, “I’m surprised you’re actually talking at all. From what Sharpy said, you haven’t said much of anything to anyone. What do you need to say to me?”

Patrick takes a deep breath and says, “Q, I talked to the guys already and I talked to Bowman… I need you to know… Jonny and I were…”

“Together? Is that what you needed to tell me?”

Patrick sits there, a little stunned. Sure, some of the guys knew about them, but he didn’t think that Coach would know. They were so careful. But apparently not careful enough. “But… But how did you know? Did Jonny tell you before…”

Coach Q laughs a little, saying, “You guys were obvious enough to see from space. Bowman may haven’t noticed since he doesn’t see you all the time, but I saw you guys almost every day. Anyone could tell just from the looks on your faces. You especially. I know you guys played together before being drafted, I just assumed that’s where it all started, am I right?”

“Yeah. When we played together on the Junior Flyers. It was definitely a weird time period for me.”

“That’s quite some time, huh? Well I’m glad you’ve started to tell people. I'm sure it’ll make things a lot easier for you over the coming months. Have you given any thought of coming out publicly?”

“I’m not sure, Q. Part of me wants to, because it’s the right thing to do, but part of me doesn’t want to do it right after Tazer just died. It’s a lot for everyone to handle all at once. I don’t want anyone saying anything bad about Jonny now that he’s dead. They can say whatever they want about me but I can’t handle it if they trash Jonny’s memory.”

“Hey, kid, they won’t. Everybody loved Jonny. Everybody respected him. They’re not going to go after him. It’s going to be you, if anyone.”

And that’s what scared Patrick the most. Jonny was his way to stay stabilized, his rock. He had tried to kill himself after just burying him, what was going to happen once he had to face backlash for the both of them? How was he going to face the public when he could barely face himself?

“I know, Coach. I know. This sucks.” “I know it does, Kaner. But you’re doing a good job already. Just let me or Stan know if you need anything.”

Patrick smiles a little bit, finally relaxing as he hangs up the phone. He knows he has the support of his team and his coach and GM. And he knows his families will support him no matter what. But there was still one person’s support he still needed, and it was that person’s whose mattered the most. His voice is quiet as he mutters, “Jonny, I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you’re even there. I don’t know if you will listen, but I need to know that you’re still with me…”

_“I’m always with you, Kaner. From draft to retirement…”_

“From first skate to last day on earth,” he says back. “I love you, Taze.”

_“Je t’aime trop, Kaner. I’m proud of you.”_

Sighing, he puts his head in his hands. The curls on the base of his neck shift and Patrick leans into the touch. There are Jonny’s long, strong fingers and rough hands, rubbing soft circles into his skin. “I don’t know if I can do this, Jonny. I can’t do this without you…”

 _“You don’t have to do it without me. You have to remember that I’m always with you. It hurts that you keep forgetting that…”_ Jonny says breathlessly. Patrick can hear that pain in his voice, so familiar from him back in that bathroom. Back in their hotel room before he woke up with his life changed. He knows Jonny’s still hurting and that’s what’s killing him the most.

“Jonny…"

 _“We’ll worry about everything later, but you need to finish what you came here to do.”_ Patrick knows Jonny’s right, as always. He needs to finish packing. He needs to have his closure. Getting off the bed, he looks around at the bedroom to see what he still has left to do. Most everything is packed up but one thing still stands there in the front of his mind. Jonny’s guitar.

His fingers trace over the strings, remembering all the nights of Jonny playing country songs for him, slow and slightly off-key. He remembers the deep timbre of his voice, the fact that the songs didn’t need to be perfect for them to work their way into his heart.

As carefully as possible, Patrick gently encloses the guitar in its case. A chill runs down his spine when he hears the light strum of the strings from inside the closed box.

“Not right now, Jonny. Please.”

Two hours later and everything, knickknacks included, is packed up into boxes. All that’s left is bare bones and bare furniture. He sits in the middle of the floor, looking around hopelessly. Juliette’s bowls sit by the front of the door, just waiting. Patrick looks down at his lap and sighs. “Jonny, we need to go see her.”

He calls Bicks, waiting quietly until he answers. “Hey Bicksy, it’s Kaner… Ummm… Can I stop by? I have some stuff for Jules.”

“Kaner, sure, come on over! Amanda just got home from a doctor’s appointment. Juliette will be excited to see you!” Bryan says, almost as excitedly as Patrick’s dog will apparently be. “She’s been whining at the door every time I come back home.”

“Yeah, I know,” Patrick mutters quietly. He can feel the lump in his throat start back up. “I’ll be over in 20.”

He packs up the food, Juliette’s things, and Jonny’s guitar into his car and heads over to Bicks’. He pauses in the car and really thinks about if he wants to do this. He misses Juliette something fierce but he’s not sure if she’ll even want to see him. He abandoned her, just like everyone else.

But he grabs something special before heading to the front door. When Bickell lets him in, all he can see is Juliette. She’s sitting in the doorway, tail tucked and wiggling, eyes hopeful on him. He lets her bag fall from his hand and just buries his face in her fur. She licks his face worriedly and Patrick has to do everything to pull the tears back into his eyes. “I missed you, baby girl. I’m sorry I left you.”

Bicks closes the door and puts her bag in the living room. “Told you, Kaner. I’ll go put her food away.”

Patrick pulls his face away as Juliette starts whining loudly. She sits low and whines at the door before barking loudly. He looks behind him and sees Jonny kneeling behind him, smile on his face. Juliette looks between the two of them, scooting back with her tail between her legs. “It’s okay, Jules. It's just Jonny,” Patrick whispers, holding out his hand.

She buries her face in his lap, eyes still focused on where Jonny is.

“Hey, is she okay? I thought I heard barking,” Bryan says, coming around the corner, bag in hand.

Patrick nods. “Yeah, she just got spooked. Hey, could you hand me that bag for a second? I brought something for her that might help.”

When Bryan hands him the bag, he pulls out one of Jonny’s shirts that had been sitting in the laundry. It still smelled overwhelmingly like him. Patrick pets her gently, murmuring, “See, everything’s okay Jules,” as he holds the shirt next to her. She sniffs it, looks at Jonny, then back at Patrick before grabbing the shirt in her mouth and carrying it over into her crate. She turns three times and sits down heavily, burying her face in it.

Bryan stands there for a second before kneeling in front of Patrick. “That was Jonny’s shirt, wasn’t it?”

Patrick can barely nod before burying his face in his hands. Bicks pulls him in close, saying, “Hey, hey, Kaner, please don’t cry. Don’t let Juliette see you cry.” Patrick nods but knows what his friend and teammate is really saying is, ‘I can't see you cry.’

He raises his head when he sees Amanda peer around the corner at them. “Pat, I’m just about to make dinner. Would you like to stay and eat with us?” He looks at the very pregnant woman, desperate to help at a time where the upcoming baby ruled her world, and nods. Amanda smiles and says, “Perfect. I’ll get started.” The Bickells’ two dogs bound after her happily.

Patrick notices Juliette stays hunkered down in her crate. “She hasn’t come out much. Just to go out, eat, and whenever she hears someone coming inside,” Bicks says, motioning to the despondent dog.

“I know how she feels,” Patrick says quietly. “She’s waiting for Jonny to come home.”

After dinner, Patrick pulls Amanda aside, asking, “Do you mind if I stay here tonight? I know Bryan won’t care, but I know, with the baby and everything, you might not want me stay. I can just sleep on the couch.”

Amanda rubs his shoulder, saying, “I don’t mind at all. This baby isn’t coming for a while you know. You can stay as long as you like.”

He stays up a little later than the Bickells, letting the dogs out one final time before getting the couch ready. He gets a text from his mom, phone screen lighting up in the dark. He reads it quickly. _Flying in Monday. Can’t wait to see you! xo Mom._

Everything is quiet as he closes his eyes, but soon, he feels something soft nudging his hand. Even in the darkness, he can see Juliette’s dark eyes glowing in front of him, Jonny’s shirt still in her mouth. He pets her nose gently and moves over on the couch, letting her crawl up next to him. She tucks in tight, shirt pressed between their bodies. She licks Patrick’s face as he says, “I miss him too, girl. I miss him too.”

Curling around his dog, he listens to her sigh heavily and fall asleep. He just wishes he could do the same too.

~

He gets up early to go back to his condo for fresh clothes before practice, leaving a note on the dining room table.

_Thanks for everything and taking such good care of Jules for me while I take care of stuff at home. You guys love her a lot and I know she knows that. Once everything gets settled more I’ll bring her home. It’s hard taking care of myself right now and I don't want to neglect her. Thanks for everything, again._

_-Patrick_

Wrapping his arms tight around Juliette, he scratches behind her ears gently as he whispers, “Don’t worry girl, I’ll be back soon. I promise I won’t leave again.” She licks furiously at Patrick’s face, whining low in her body. She crawls into his lap, nipping at the end of his shirt. “I mean it this time,” he says, kissing her nose. “I mean it.”

She peers through the window as Patrick heads out, waving back to his dog as he gets in his car. He can hear her whining from outside, and it breaks his heart even more. But he knows he has to leave her here. Abby was right about what she said earlier. He can’t even take care of himself, how would he be able to take care of anyone, or anything else?

When Patrick gets to practice, he’s surprised at the fact that he’s one of the first there. Rosi’s down at the blue line with Crow, while Leddy, Shawzy, and Saad are playing keep away with each other at center ice. He skates over toward Sharpy, going over plays with Q.

“Hey Coach, can I talk to you for a second?” he asks quietly, trying not to intrude on whatever they were talking about. Q looks at Sharpy and Patrick’s teammate skates off quickly, shooting a puck towards Crow.

Q looks at him questioningly. “Okay Kaner, what’s up? Any more thoughts on the line change?”

Patrick absolutely hates that he’s so transparent. He always has and always will be. He clenches his hand around his stick and sighs. “I’ll do it. I’ll take Jonny’s spot. I don’t want to, but I know I have to. The team needs me and I know it’s what Jonny would’ve wanted.”

Tapping him on the helmet, Q nods, saying, “Good. I’m glad you’re willing to do that. Now, let’s get going.”

Practice is hard and heavy; they only have a few more to go before playoffs start on Monday. It’s fast paced and Patrick’s struggling to keep up. He’s been eating considerably less than he should be and he can feel it affecting his skating. He’s left breathing heavy on the bench after a long shift, legs shaking. “You okay?” Hossa asks, looking concerned.

He nods before grabbing some water. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m just tired. Haven’t been getting a lot of sleep. I’ll be fine though.” He shoots Hossa a weary smile before skating off. He’ll get through this, as always.

And Patrick does, but just barely. He gets off the ice and into the locker room before he collapses, sitting on the bench heavily. Everyone starts getting their gear off but he just sits there, head spinning. Saad comes over and sits down next to him, asking, “Hey Kaner, are you okay? You’re white as a sheet.”

Nodding, he stands up to get his gear off. But the moment he does, the locker room spins. His vision whites out for a second and, when it comes back, he’s staring up at the ceiling.

Everybody’s gathered around him, all the trainers in the center of the circle. Patrick takes a deep breath and accepts the water bottle being pushed into his hands. “Okay guys, back it up, back it up, give him some room,” Sharpy says as Patrick struggles to get back onto the bench. “Guys, I’m fine, I swear,” Pat says, taking a long drink of water. Everybody looks at him warily but doesn’t push the issue. Everybody knows the problems he’s having and everybody refuses to talk about it. They all just want to get through the playoffs with the entire team intact and Patrick’s not going to try and jeopardize that goal. He wants to play just as much as anyone else.

“Kaner, you’re gonna need to get checked out,” Q says, kneeling in front of him. “If there’s a problem, we need to know about it.”

He begrudgingly agrees, letting Michael take all his vitals and check him out. He's down almost 15 pounds, his blood pressure is up, and he’s lectured for almost twelve minutes on sticking with his meal plan. Patrick just nods and sighs, knowing everything Michael is saying is right. He hasn’t been taking care of himself, even with all these people trying to take help.

“Thanks Mike,” he mutters, grabbing his jacket off the chair.

Heading back into the locker room, most everyone has cleared out by now. It’s just Saader, sitting quietly in his stall, staring at the floor. Patrick notices his hands shaking, clenched into fists. Brandon looks up when Patrick asks, "What're you still doing here, man? Everyone else left.”

The young man shrugs a little. “I volunteered to drive you home. Everyone’s a little worried about you. Come on, grab your stuff.”

They pile into Patrick’s SUV and head towards downtown. They’re both a little too quiet and Pat’s starting to get worried. When he looks over at Brandon, his heart sinks into his stomach. The kid’s face is white as a sheet, bottom lip bitten between teeth to keep it steady. His eyes are locked on the road but they’re minutes from pooling with tears. Patrick watches him all the way home, down to the dim lights of the parking garage. The car pulls to a stop and neither of them move.

“Saader… are you-“

Brandon’s voice is painfully quiet as he chokes out, “You fucking _scared_ us, man. You can't keep doing this. If something happened to you after-" He swallows a sob back down his throat. "I fucking miss Jonny.” His hands shake violently as they wipe tears off his face. “I miss him so much it fucking hurts.”

Saad isn’t one much to swear and Patrick knows it’s bad. He wishes he could just protect him from anything and everything bad in the world, but the world didn’t protect him either. “I'm sorry about today. And I know, Saader, it fucking sucks. It sucks so much and I know what it’s like to hurt. You were his rookie. You were close with him and it’s okay to be upset.”

And then, he stops. Those words didn’t seem to mean shit until he actually said them himself. It was okay to be upset. It was okay to be mad and to be frustrated and to cry. Because he wasn’t alone.

Brandon nods and sniffles a little. "Come on upstairs," Patrick offers. "We'll order from that Thai place you like." Brandon thinks for a second before nodding again. "I know Jonny always talked highly of the food," Pat adds.

Saad smiles for a second, saying fondly, "Yeah, but he always complained it was always too spicy. I kept telling him that was the best part."

"Never was a fan of spicy food, was he?" Patrick says quietly with a small grin, thinking about all the times Jonny wouldn't eat his cooking because he had made it too spicy. "Didn't like sweet things either."

Brandon lets out an actual laugh this time. "You should've seen him when my mom made him cookies," he says. “I've never seen anyone get more uncomfortable around chocolate chips. That weird nervous face of his." Saader falls quiet then, smile disappearing. "Is it bad," he asks, "that I can’t remember what he looks like? All I can remember is him in that coffin."

Getting out of the car, Patrick shakes his head understandingly. "No, its not bad. Sometimes I have a hard time too. It’s just something you get used to, whether you want to or not."

They order in food and just sit by the giant windows watching the sun go down behind the city. "This is such a nice place," Brandon says, a twinge of jealousy in his quiet voice. "I'll never be able to afford anything like this."

Patrick shrugs, picking at his fried rice. "You're still making rookie money though. I'm sure you'll get a nice raise once thats up. I know Bowman's said he's never letting you or Teuvo go any time soon. And now that we've got a lot of cap space..." he trails off, taking another bite of food.

Brandon ducks his head, turning pink. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Pat says, realizing how that must have come out. I just meant..."

"No, Kaner I get it," Saader says, pushing off the floor. The young man throws away his take out containers and mutters, "I really gotta go. I'll see you at practice though." The door shuts heavily and Patrick is, once again, left alone.

~

Thursday morning practice goes by in a blur. There's a white hot pain thumping in the center of his forehead that will not go away, no mater what he does. It begins the second he gets his skates on and doesn’t leave even when he gets off the ice. Patrick pinches the bridge of his nose as he sits in his locker, trying to calm the headache. He closes his eyes and tries to block out the noise around him.

“Kaner, what’re you-” Shawzy asks loudly.

“Shhhh…” Patrick murmurs, waving him off with his free hand. “Just be quiet for once in your short little life, Shawzer.”

“You’re the short one, loser,” the younger man laughs, sticking his gloves into the top of his locker. “Talking about my short little life. I’ll put your skates where you can’t even reach!”

Patrick laughs a little bit, deep down in his chest. There are a couple chirps from across the locker room and it’s a good sound. They've dealt with so much sadness over the past weeks that they needed as many jokes as they could throw around. It was a sign of things turning around. A sign of a new beginning.

When he’s out of the showers and packing up, Bollig corners him by the doorway. “Shawzy, Ledpipe and I are going out for drinks tonight. You should come along. I want you to,” Bolly says nudging him a little. “It’d be good for you to get out with us!”

Blinking back the throbbing, Patrick shrugs him off, saying, “I can’t, sorry. I’ve got the worst headache ever today. I doubt going out for drinks will help that.”

“Well, maybe I’ll give you a call later?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Pat mutters, just trying to get out of the fluorescent lighting and into the dark sanctuary of his condo. He just wants to lay under the covers until his head finally stops pounding. “Do what you want,” he says, ducking out of the doorway, leaving Bollig behind without another word.

His legs feel like cement by the time he gets into his condo. Patrick drags himself to the freezer and pulls out an ice pack. The couch creaks underneath him as he slumps into it, covering his eyes with the ice pack. He lays down and lets the time seep through his body.

Patrick jumps a little when he hears a deep thumping on his door. Wearily, he checks the time. It’s nearly 3 in the morning.

He blinks back tiredness as he pushes himself up off the couch and ambles over to the entry way. Peering through the eyehole, he sees that it’s Bollig, in all his bearded glory. His cheeks are flushed and his lidded eyes are wild. “Kaner, you gonna let me in or not?” he crows, louder than he should at 3am.

Unlocking the door, Patrick can already smell the cloud that follows Bollig inside the condo. “You’re drunk. Again,” Pat says flatly.

Brandon’s hand is hot and heavy on Pat’s shoulder as he leans in and smiles stupidly. “When am I not? Stop pretending you don’t want to be. You’d rather be drunk like me than worrying when you’re gonna turn into Biscuit. You think you’re okay but you’re turning into a ticking time bomb. Lord knows you probably only have a handful of Sharpy’s jokes before you fully go postal.”

Patrick feels his stomach knotting and his heart begin to race. “You’re an asshole, Bolly. I’m calling Sharpy,” he says, pulling away from his friend.

“Oh, Sharpy knows I’m here. I called him trying to get a ride. He said not to come here so I got a cab. He’s probably trying to get here anyway. I just wanted to say ‘Hi’ to you. Haven’t seen you in forever.”

Looking at the ground, Patrick mutters, "I know, I’m sorry. I don’t want to be alone but I don’t want to be near anybody, you know?”

Bollig nods, combing a hand through his hair. “That’s why I’m here, Kaner. You need somebody.” He goes over to Patrick’s couch and flops down, stretching to expose his stomach. “Come here and watch a movie with me, okay?” he slurs.

Warily, Pat steps over, socks muffling his footsteps. He hands the remote to Brandon, saying, “You pick. I’m too tired to make a decision right now.” Brandon picks out some racing movie with actors neither of them really knows, and moves down the couch to let Pat sit next to his head. He makes a contented noise into Pat’s thigh as he moves closer to the blond.

The movie is about 10 minutes in when Brandon sits up and yawns happily. “I miss your smile, Pat. How long’s it been since anyone’s seen those dimples of yours?”

“I don’t know anymore. I can’t smile; I’m too empty.”

“I can fix that.”

And, without any warning, Brandon leans over, grabs Patrick’s face, and kisses him. Patrick is so stunned that he can’t move, can’t pull away. Bollig kisses him deeply, one hand moving Pat’s shirt up his hip. Patrick’s body goes numb and he can feel blank tears falling down his face. Then, his entire body starts to tremble and, before he knows it, he’s broken away from Brandon and bolted into his bathroom, locking the door.

Patrick scrambles into the whirlpool tub and feels his sobs start clawing their way from his chest to his throat. He bites his lip and tries to keep them locked in his body, but feels them come spilling out of his mouth like a tsunami. Jonny, the first and only person he had ever really loved, was dead and the thought of kissing anyone else was enough to…

“Patrick, I’m sorry!” slurs Brandon, just outside the door. Pat bites the heel of his hand to muffle himself. “I didn’t mean for-“ One of the phones rings out in the living room and Patrick can hear Bollig’s heavy footsteps take off down the hall.

He waits in silence for a few precious moments until he hears Brandon say, “Sharpy’s going to be here soon. I’ll be in the living room.” His footsteps trail off down the hallway again and Patrick is finally alone.

His feet slide against the ceramic of his bath. All Pat can do is sink further down and wait for Sharpy to come. It’s about twenty minutes before he can hear the front door creak open. “Sorry it took so long, where is he?” Two sets of feet echo. “Peeks? It’s me, Sharpy. Can you open the door?” Sharp asks gently. Pat can’t bring himself to climb out. Sharp jiggles the doorknob and sighs. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Patrick flinches when he hears Bollig mumble, words mushing together, “I kissed him. I didn’t mean for-“

“Are you fucking stupid?!” Sharp shouts, voice turning angry. Patrick can picture the scene outside the door. Bolly, back against the wally, Sharp, spun around to get in his face. “Jonny died barely three weeks ago and you think kissing Patrick is okay? I know you make stupid decisions when you’re drunk, but this has got to top the list,” he snarls loudly.

“What? I know things have been rough but I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted Pat to know I cared about him. And what does any of this have to do with Jonny?”

A scream thumps its way out of Patrick’s body as he exclaims, “I fucking loved him, you asshole.”

Then, silence. He can hear Brandon’s drunk panicking, him muttering swears and “I didn’t know”s.

“Where the fuck did you think they went by themselves all the time? They spent almost every day together. You were too caught up in your own world to realize what was happening around you. He fucking told everyone at the therapy session that you decided to walk out of. If you liked Patrick that much you should’ve realized he was in love. You fucked up big time, Bolly. Take my keys and get in the fucking car.”

The jingle of keys being slammed against the wall sounds as Bolly stumbles down the hall and out of the apartment. Sharp mumbles something to himself and then says, “Pat, are you okay?” Sharp’s voice comes from right next to the door, cheek pressed against the wood.

Patrick furiously wipes his face. He’s debating what to say. ‘I’m fine,’ and ‘Fuck you,’ cross his mind, but it’s Sharpy. He’s seen him at his worst. There’s nothing left to hide. “I miss Jonny,” he says, voice thick.

“I know,” Sharpy says. “We all do.” The doorknob jiggles again. “If you’re not going to come out, I’ll just go. I’m sorry this happened.”

Then, the footsteps head away and the front door opens and shuts. And, finally, Patrick is left in the silence he so desperately desired. He looks up at the bathroom ceiling and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath and murmurs, “Jonny? Are you there? It’s me, Patrick. I know we haven’t talked in a couple days and I’m sorry. It’s starting to feel more real; I’m starting to hurt more and more. It’s just so hard going on without you. Our first game is in two days, and I don’t even want to think about playing. I just hope you’ll be there watching us.”

Patrick smiles when he hears Jonny’s voice in his head say, _“I’m always watching you, Peeks. Someone has to make sure you don’t fuck up.”_ He rests his head on his chest and listens to Jonny’s voice weave through his head, falling asleep for the first time in over a day.

~

He wakes up from the streaming light in through the bathroom window, bright and painful in his face. Patrick sits up and cracks his neck, trying to undo the night’s pain of sleeping in the bathtub.

Two tylenol and three glasses of water later, he manages to stumble out of the bathroom and grab his phone off the table. He has four missed calls from Bolly and six from Sharpy. But only one text from Sharpy. _Check your mail._

Confused, he checks his mailbox. There’s a thick paper envelope stuffed in there with a return address from LA. Ripping it open, Patrick skims the papers. It’s a subpoena. He was going to have to testify in court. Every muscle in his body turns nervous as he realizes the implications of this. He was going to have to go up in front of everyone and pretend that Sharpy was the one that found him. Pretend that Jonny was nothing more than a friend.

He couldn’t do that.

His fingers are shaking as he dials Bowman’s phone number. It goes to voicemail and Patrick can hear the nervousness in his voice as he says, “Hey Stan, it’s Kaner. Ummm… I know you and I haven’t talked a lot about this, but I was wondering if you could set up a press conference? I think things are going to start getting crazy with playoffs and Jonny’s trial afterwards, and I’d like to set some things straight. You know, about me and Jonny. I think it’s time that everybody knows. I’m tired of having to keep this a secret. If you could give me a call back, that’d be great.” _Click._

It’s about 4 hours before Bowman calls him back, saying that he had set up a presser for the following morning and that he should think long and hard about what he wanted to say. Patrick knew the ramifications of this. This was going to be the first time a professional hockey player was going to come out publicly as gay and he was about as high profile as he could get, especially after Jonathan’s death.

By the time the phone call ends, his head is reeling. Patrick’s left with thoughts swirling, still unsure on how he’s going to get the courage to do this.

“Jonny, what am I going to do?” he asks, putting his head in his hands. The silence hurts more than it should when he doesn’t get an answer back. Jonny was supposed to be here with him, doing this, but now it was all on his shoulders. He was the one that was going to have to face the media and the fans and the backlash. He was the one that was going to have to deal with the negativity and the snide comments, not Jonny. And now Jonny wouldn’t even answer him back.

“I hate that you left me.” The words come falling out of his mouth before he can even catch them. Still, silence. “I hate that you knew something was wrong and didn’t tell anyone. You knew you were sick, and you were too damn stubborn to do anything for yourself. I hate you,” Patrick spits quietly, chin shaking.

He feels that familiar, too light hand on his shoulder and wants so badly to shrug it off. He’s torn between wanting Jonny back in the flesh and wanting him to leave, just so he can keep his sanity. _“You don’t hate me… We’ll get through this…”_

Patrick takes a deep breath and sighs. The words flood back to him and he remembers every conversation they had about this. What they would say, how they would say it, what might happen afterwards. With Jonny’s voice still in his head, he knows what he has to do then. He has to go in and right all the wrongs he had made over the past six years. He has to let the world know.

~

Bowman meets him at the arena Saturday morning, asking him, “Are you sure you want to do this, kid?” Patrick nods and grips the door handle tight. There was no going back now.

The flashes of cameras nearly blinds him as he steps out of the door and sits behind the table. He glances back at Bowman, who just nods at him. Patrick can feel his heart thumping all the way up in his ears. He takes a deep breath before leaning toward the microphone. “Thanks for coming everyone. In the wake of the upcoming playoffs and lawsuit against Drew Doughty, I’d like to set the record straight on some things. I want this to come directly from me, instead of being leaked during the trial.”

The room seems to buzz with anticipation. He knows what he has to do, but that somehow doesn’t calm his nerves any more. Patrick always saw this moment as something he and Jonny did together. But now it was on just his shoulders.

“Jonny and I were…” He pauses, closing his eyes. “…romantically involved together,” he says finally. The press immediately explodes in questions, all of them muddling together in a cacophony of noise. Patrick puts his hand up and continues. “We had been dating for almost six years, but I’ve loved him since I was 12 and we played together with the Junior Flyers. Our paths collided and it honestly felt like fate.”

He can hear one question called loudly and clearly, “Does this mean you’re coming out as gay? And saying Jonathan was too?”

Patrick had rehearsed this in his head a million times before, but it still feels weird to say it. “I know that sexuality is a spectrum and I’m not sure where either of us fall on it. What I do know is that I love him and he loved me.” His voice catches on the end but comes back strong. “But representation does matter and I want kids that are looking for role models out there to have one in me and Tazer,” he says, proudness laced in his words. He knows this puts the spotlight on him even more, but, like Jonny always said, he did his best under the bright lights.

“We’re proof that you can still play hockey, and still be the best out there, no matter who you love.”

There are more than a few people clapping and it calms his shaking hands. “I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner, but Tazer and I had talked about coming out for a long time. I just wanted to do this before the lawsuit begins so people have the truth. I was the one that woke up and found Jonathan dead. Sharpy covered for me our first interview because he, along with the rest of the team, was worried about my mental and emotional state. So far, I’ve gotten help and am on my way to making some progress.”

Patrick waves off a couple more questions and says, “Regardless, these upcoming months are not about me or my relationship with Jonny. We need to focus on bringing him the Cup one last time, then focusing on serving justice in the charges against Doughty.”

His entire body feels like it’s shaking but he can hear Jonathan’s voice, clear as anything, say, _“You’re doing great, Kaner.”_

“What are you hoping for as the lawsuit begins?” One reporter asks, over the murmuring of the crowd. Everybody waits for answer. Nobody on the team has really talked about the lawsuit, other than Bowman when commenting Doughty’s suspension. It was his responsibility.

Patrick closes his eyes and sighs. He feels the small nudge on his knee that could only be Jonny’s. Patrick leans forward and says, “Well, what I want is for Jonny to be here to play with us in the playoffs and in October, but I can’t have that. It will be the jury that decides what Doughty deserves. Anything I want wouldn’t matter. I believe the suspension was a start, but anything after that is out of my hands.”

There are some murmured questions that Patrick answers robotically until he finally breathes out, “Thank you for coming, truly. On behalf of the team, myself, and Jonathan’s family, I’d like to ask that privacy be respected during the trial. It’s going to be hard on everybody and I just want this to be as painless as possible. Also, I’d prefer that all other questions about my relationship with Jonny be postponed until after playoffs. We have hockey to play and I know Tazer would want me to fully concentrate on playing the best I can.”

He walks out and straight to the back, where Bowman paces back and forth. “How’d it go?” he asks nervously. “Anyone say anything bad?”

Letting out a shaky breath and shrugging, Patrick says, “It went about as good as it could’ve. We’ll just have to see how it goes the next few days.” He laughs a little. “I’m probably going to have to stay off the internet for the rest of my life.”

“Just remember that we all support you, kid. However much you do or don’t want to talk about this is fine. Nobody is going to pressure you into anything.” Bowman wraps him in a large hug. “We’ve got your back, no matter what people end up saying.”

Patrick gives him a tired smile. “Thanks Stan. It really means a lot.”

He keeps the music loud on his drive home to keep him focused on the road, instead of the flood of phone calls and texts from nearly everyone he knows. In the half hour it takes for him to get home and compose himself enough to look, he has 64 texts and 35 missed calls and voicemails. That didn’t take long.

Stretching out on the couch, he goes through all of them quietly. Most are from various guys he’s played with or against, or congratulatory ones from his family. Jackie sent a quick, _Proud of you big bro,_ while the one that hurt the most was the simple, _:( call me :( :(,_ from Seguin. Most of the voicemails were along the same lines and it’s nice to see people knew being so supportive.

But theres a singular voicemail from a number he doesn’t recognize. He clicks it and listens carefully.

_“Hey Patrick, this is Dominic Moore. From the Rangers. I know you and I don’t know each other very well, but I got your number from Nemo after I saw news of your press conference. First, I want to say congrats for coming out; I know that’s a big deal for a lot of people. Second, I just want to say how sorry I am about Jonathan, in light of recent information. I know how hard it is to unexpectedly lose the love of your life. If you need to talk to someone that’s been there, don’t hesitate to call me anytime you need to. Take care.”_

Everybody knew Moore’s story, but here he was, offering a hand to Patrick. And maybe he was right. Nobody really knew what he was going through. Sure, everyone on the team had lost a friend and Captain, but they hadn’t lost Jonny like Patrick had.

Patrick saves Dom’s number and types out a quick, _Thanks for calling. Will hit you up soon._

He spends the next hour replaying to the texts and voicemails, saving his family and close friends for last. He calls Tyler before Jackie, muttering tiredly, “Hey Segs, how’s it going?”

Tyler’s voice is thick with emotion as he says, “Fuck how I’m doing, what about you? Watched your news, I’m sorry I didn’t know about you and Jonny. I feel like such a shit friend.” Patrick winces at the sadness in his friend’s voice. “And I’m sorry you had to go through all that alone, Kaner.”

“Everybody always says that. But it never seems like anyone actually knows what it’d be like to be in my head.”

“You’re right, Pat. I don’t know what it’s like in your head right now, and I can’t even begin to imagine,” Tyler says quietly. “But I miss you telling me everything. It’s like you’ve disappeared.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know what these past few weeks have been like,” he tries saying.

But Tyler interrupts him. “Trust me Kaner, nothing you say could-“

“I tried to kill myself,” he blurts out blankly. The silence hits, each of them falling quiet. Patrick can hear Tyler shakily breathing on the other side. “After the funeral,” he says, voice hoarse and out of control. “I sat in a car in a garage and let it run. I passed out before Sharpy found me like that and pulled me out. He said I was selfish for trying to follow Jonny.”

“You’re fucking joking.” That’s all Tyler says before letting the silence drown them. There’s hurt and betrayal in his voice that Patrick honestly expected. When he doesn’t contradict him, Tyler says, “I’m sorry, but I can’t… Not right now… You need some fucking help.”

Patrick hears the franticness in his own voice as he splutters, “Please, you said… Ty, please don’t hang up on me…” Tyler may not be one of his oldest friends, but they had bonded playing together in Switzerland during the lockout. He had been sort of a mentor to Seguin, seeing a lot of himself in the younger player. They had both been there for each other, good and bad, but this was a lot to drop on him all at once.

“I’m sorry Kaner, but seriously, you need more help than I can- Hey!”

The phone goes on speaker, static and voices echoing in Patrick’s ear.

“Kaner?” asks a voice he immediately recognizes as Jamie Benn’s. Of course. Tyler’s partner in crime. Since moving to Dallas, Tyler had been attached at the hip to his captain. It was like looking through a mirror to see him and Jonny. Only difference, now, was Tyler still had Jamie.

“Benn, gimme my phone back!” Tyler says impatiently. Patrick knows all the kid wants to do is get off the phone. “Seriously man, hand it over!”

The muffled sounds of scuffling echo. “Get off, Seggy,” Benn says, “You’re not hanging up on Kaner. I don’t know what he told you, but, right now, he needs everyone on his side.” Patrick hears some quiet, unintelligible whispering and then a moment of quiet before Jamie asks, “Did you really try and kill yourself, Pat?”

His voice is quiet and broken as he mutters thickly. “I didn’t know what else to do. We had just buried Jonny. Everything was crashing down around me. I didn’t want to live like that anymore. Some nights, I’m still not sure that I want to. _That’s_ what it’s like for me.” This is one of the few times he’s talked about this with anybody other than Kendra. “I told you you didn’t want to know.” The words feel heavy and foreign, like they’re not really meant to roll off his tongue.

“I wish you had called me.” This time it’s Tyler’s voice, pained and on edge. “It just sucks knowing you’d rather try and kill yourself rather than talk to me. I thought we were friends.”

“You guys still are friends,” Jamie says. “But imagine losing someone you loved. Like one of your sisters. Or me or Brownie. You’d probably do something stupid too. But you wouldn’t want people judging you for it. Give Kaner some slack.” Patrick makes a mental note to buy Benn a drink the next time he’s in Dallas.

“I’m sorry, Tyler. Really. I know shutting everyone out wasn’t the right thing to do, but it felt like the only thing I could do. It felt like half my body was missing,” he says, rubbing his face tiredly.

Even though Tyler doesn’t immediately say anything, Patrick knows what happens then. Tyler’s face relaxes and that cheesy grin eases on his face. The tone lightens and all the edges soften. “I’m sorry for overreacting. Seriously. I’m an asshole,” Tyler says quietly, if but a little guiltily.

“Yeah you are,” Jamie chirps with a laugh.

Patrick can’t help but relax. A grin pulls at the sides of his mouth. He really missed Tyler. He missed all his friends, really. While shutting himself down from everyone and everything was good for a while, he was painfully aware of how lonely he was. He missed being invited out and being treated like an actual person, instead of getting side stepped around like a powder keg. “Thanks Segs, it means a lot. If we play you guys, we gotta go out and get food or something, okay? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Patty Kane,” Tyler says. “Now don’t forget to call more often, okay?”

“I promise. I gotta call my sisters now, but we’ll catch up soon,” he says. “But good luck in the playoffs. I promise we’ll go easy on you guys.”

Both Tyler and Jamie laugh as they hang up, leaving Patrick in ringing silence.

Calling his sister back proves to be even harder than calling Segs. It takes Pat several minutes before he can call Jackie and, when he does, he can tell he’s on speakerphone. “Congratulations!” he hears, shouted at him by several voices. It startles him, but it’s definitely comforting.

He laughs a little, saying, “Thanks everyone. Who am I even talking to?”

“Jess, Dad, Erica, Aunt Kim and James!” he hears Jackie say. “And, of course, me.”

“Where’s Mom?” he asks. “I’m surprised she's not here to yell at me about not telling you guys this first. Which I’m sorry about, by the way.”

“Mom’s up in Winnipeg, visiting Andrée and Bryan right now. Said she was going to help with the new foundation they’re setting up for Jonny.” Erica says. Patrick’s a little shocked. Neither sets of parents had mentioned anything about a foundation in Jonny’s honor. His silence is a dead giveaway when his oldest sister says, “Don’t worry, they just wanted to make it as much of a surprise as possible for opening game. Mom said that she’s been making a lot of calls to Rocky and Stan, to get something set up. Sounds like it’s going to be a big announcement.”

“At least it takes some pressure off of you, son,” his dad says. “Took a lot of guts to do what you did. Your mom and I are really proud of you.”

“Thanks Dad. It really means a lot to me. You guys have always supported me through good and bad and it’s always made things a lot easier,” he mutters, voice thick. “I love you guys.”

“Oh, don’t get all mushy on us. The last thing we need is more crying. There’s been enough of that,” Jess says, trying to keep things light.

They spend the next hour catching up everything that’s been happening in Chicago and Buffalo. His sisters ask about Juliette and Patrick asks about how school is going for them. HIs dad mentions that they’re going to fly in for the opening game on Monday and should be in mid afternoon. His entire family would be there, which would make that first game without Jonny a little easier.

It’s late when he finally hangs up and finishes replying to all the texts and emails from people.

He pauses at the one from Bollig. A simple _I’m sorry._ His fingers hover over the keyboard for a few seconds before he just deletes the whole thing. He knows he’ll have to deal with him at practice tomorrow but, right now, all he wanted to do was sit on the couch and drown out his thoughts with some much needed silence.

~

Patrick gets out of his condo early for practice, earlier than he can remember. They have a full practice at 9 today, but he wanted to get some work in before everyone else. So he's out there at the break of dawn, working on the skating he knows he's let falter. Just living had been his main concern. Now it was time to concentrate on his reason why.

The rest of the guys get in around eight or nine, depending on who it was. Practice goes well and they're starting to look the the team they used to be. They had to be. Tonight was opening night and the beginning of the playoffs. It was going to be a hometown crowd tonight. Everything was stacked in their favor tonight. Well, almost everything.

“Kaner, can we talk?”

He keeps his head down as he gets back to the bench. Bolly has him pinned near the boards, unable to get away. “I don’t want to talk right now Brandon,” he snaps, grabbing his water bottle. “I don’t have anything to say to you right now.”

“Come on, we can’t keep doing this! We can’t keep pretending this didn’t happen! I’m sorry, I am! I didn’t even know. I was an asshole,” the brunet says. “I didn’t know about you and Jonny. If I had, I wouldn't have-“

“Wouldn’t have what, kissed me? Wouldn’t have what?”

“I’m sorry, Kaner. I don’t know what else you want from me. I really don’t,” Brandon says, defeated. He skates away as Sharpy stops over, giving Patrick a questioning look. Pat shakes his head and skates off, not ready to do this yet. It’s game day, he doesn’t want to start into this with Sharp.

Patrick takes a break for lunch, knowing he’ll have to be back at the rink in a few hours anyway. What he wasn't expecting, however, was to find his mom waiting outside the locker room when he got his gear off.

"Mom, what are you doing here already?" he asks, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes.

"Your old mom's still able to surprise her son every once in a while, isn't she?" his mom says with a grin. She hugs him tight and curls her arm around his. "I knew you'd be at practice so I threw some laundry in back at your condo and headed over. Have you had lunch yet?"

He shakes his head. "No, I was just about to go get some. My appetite's starting to come back. Still can’t eat as much as I used to," Patrick says, shrugging.

"You've been through a lot," his mom says as they walk out of the building. "I hope nobody's been too hard on you."

Patrick smiles at her as they get into her rental car. He knows he should be more open with his mom about what’s really been going on, him passing out at practice, his suicide attempt, Jonny's ring, but he knows that would only worry her more than she already does about him.

They pick a nice quiet place downtown, tucked into a back corner booth. "So what’s this whole thing about a foundation?" Patrick asks once they get their food. "I talked to everyone yesterday after my press conference and Erica said Bryan and Andrée started a foundation for Jon?"

His mom nods. "A few days after the funeral, Jonathan's mother and I talked. She wanted to do something but wasn’t sure what. and then I suggested a memorial foundation."

"What's it going to be for?"

"It's for people who have had traumatic brain injuries. To help with awareness and help pay for medical expenses. Bryan also got a partnership with Canadian Tire to sponsor a handicapped players team."

He smiles a little, thinking about how excited Jonny would've been to see this happen. "That's great, Mom! Are they announcing it tonight before the game?"

"Yes, they're going to do a memorial for Jonathan and then announce it. There's also going to be a big announcement too." When Patrick looks at her questioningly, she continues. "Since Jonathan's contract ran through the end of the next season, the front office agreed to donate his last year's salary to the fund."

Patrick sits there, stunned. He thinks of all the people that money could help, all the good that could do. He has to take a deep breath to keep it all together before saying, "Jonny would’ve… He'd be proud."

"As he should be. As you should be too. You two were inseparable. You helped make him the person he was. Don't forget that, Pat." He can see the tears in his mom's eyes and it’s everything he can do to keep it together himself.

"Mom, please don't start crying. you know I'm a baby when you start crying," he says, voice thick. Patrick sighs a little as he looks up at the ceiling. "I really miss him, Mom. I miss him more than I ever thought I could." He sniffs back tears as he wipes his nose.

His mom looks at him sadly, knowing there was no way she could ever really fix this. "I know honey. You've always had a big heart, ever since you were a kid, and things affect you more than most. I can’t even imagine what you're going through; your dad is still here with me. But I know I would be devastated if anything happened to him or you or one of the girls. You've been stronger than I would be."

It’s comforting but still only heals surface wounds. Some scars would be there long after they scabbed over.

It’s quiet for a while, Patrick picking at his sandwich uncomfortably. ”When do you have to pick Dad and the girls up?" he asks, taking a final bite of his sandwich. "Their flight gets in at 3. I know thats cutting it close to when you have to be at the UC."

Pat nods. "I have to be there at 4:30. But I could ride along with you. It’s Monday. O'Hare traffic isn't bad most weekdays." He grabs his sweatshirt. "Plus, it'd be nice to see the girls and Dad again. I cant remember the last time I saw him."

"It _has_ been a while," his mom agrees. "But don't you usually take a nap before the game? You look exhausted. When was the last time you slept?"

He winces at his mom's face when he says, "Friday night..." He holds his hands up to calm her. "I'm fine, Mom, really."

She narrows her eyes at him but doesn't press the issue. "If you say so," she mutters, dragging him out to her car. "Well, I want you to at least lay down when we go back to your condo. I want you to relax while I finish your laundry."

"Yes mother," he sighs, smirking at her as he slumps into the passenger's seat.

He ends up actually taking a quick nap when they get back to his condo, face down on his couch while his mom hums around him. It’s not long enough and Patrick wakes up groggier than before. He unsticks his hair from the side of his face as his mom says, “You ready to head to the airport now?”

His sisters tackle them when the get to the bottom of the escalator. He wraps them all in his arms as he’s collapsed to the floor of the airport. “We missed you!” Jess says into his chest. “Also, Dad and us have a surprise for you!” Patrick lets them go and they all unzip their sweatshirts to reveal matching jerseys. All of them were wearing Jonathan’s name and number.

Patrick blinks back happy tears and lets out a soft laugh. “You guys are awesome. Seriously, this is the best.”

Erica brushes off his suit and hands him her suitcase. “You don’t have to thank us. It was Dad’s idea. Now, come on on, we have to get you to your game!”

For once, he’s not the first one in the locker room. Well, Jonny was always the first one at anything, but Patrick was generally the next to show up. But, this time, it’s Bolly who’s sitting on his bench, head in his hands. “You’re never here this early,” he says, tossing his suit coat into his locker.

Brandon looks up at him and shrugs, saying, I knew you’d be the first one here. And I figured we could talk before anyone else shows up. I don’t want things being weird anymore.”

“I told you, there’s nothing to talk abou-“

“Yes, there fucking is!” Bollig says frustratedly. “Yeah, I was a dick and I know that. I was only thinking about myself when I should’ve been thinking about everyone else! I wasn’t paying attention as much as I should have to you and the fact that you were seeing Jonny. I’m fucking sorry and I’m a piece of shit. I know that.” The older man sighs and looks at the ground, ashamed. “But I don’t want things to be weird on the ice. I miss being friends with you. I don’t want you being mad at me this whole time.”

Patrick thinks for a second, hesitantly holding out his hand. “If you’re fine with being just friends, then I forgive you.”

Bolly shakes his hand carefully saying, “I’m fine. I just don’t want any bad blood out there.”

As the rest of the team arrives and goes through their pre-game rituals, Patrick notices there’s something different there. It’s quieter, no music blaring through the speakers. Everyone just keeping their heads down, focusing on what’s to come. They’ve opted to do a closed warmup, the stands still empty and quiet. It was their calm before the storm.

As they file back in, Q stands in the middle of the locker room, everyone sitting silently in their gear. Patrick raises his head as his coach sighs. “I’m not going to go into it with you guys because we all know why we’re here and what we need to do. You all know what you need to do. So let’s go out there and make sure we don’t fuck this up, understand?”

They all nod and Patrick bounces a little, getting up off the bench. Sharpy taps him a little on the shoulder and bumps their helmets together as they file out of the tunnel. “It’ll be okay, Peeks. We’ve got this,” Sharpy says reassuringly.

“Yeah, I know. But playing the Blues wasn’t how I really wanted to start this whole thing off,” he says, rolling his eyes.

His nerves are buzzing in his body, humming with electricity. He can hear the crowd roaring and Jonny whispering quietly in his ear. But Jonny gets quieter and the crowd gets louder as Patrick exits the tunnel and takes his first steps back out on home ice. As he takes a few laps, he notices something strange about the crowd. Nearly every single person in the hometown crowd is wearing Jonathan’s number, whether it’s a shirt or a jersey. There are C’s plastered on every chest, 19’s sewn onto every sleeve. He has to duck his head and wipe his eyes with his sleeve when he finally understands. Everyone, not just the team, was there to see this game won for their captain.

Patrick takes his place on the bench next to Sharpy and Hossa, chewing on the end of his stick nervously. Everyone watches Rocky and Stan step out onto he rink amid the cheers. “Thank you all for coming,” Rocky says into the microphone. “As many of you know, the Blackhawks lost an important member of the organization, Jonathan Toews. Jonathan was a great player, and an even better man. In remembrance of Jonathan, we’re proud to make an important announcement.”

The crowd goes completely silent and Patrick looks up into the stands. Bryan, David, and Andrée make their way down through the stands as every single person rises to their feet and begins clapping.

They pause every once in a while and shake people’s hands. Patrick waves to them a little as they walk out on the ice. Bryan puts his arm around his wife’s waist as she takes the microphone. “I just want to say how much I appreciate everyone here,” Andrée says. “Everyone in Chicago has been so supportive through such a hard time. Jonathan would be proud to see the city rally behind him, even in death.” Patrick can see the tears in her eyes and wishes he could be out there with her.

“We have decided that, instead of letting grief take over, we would help others. In memory of our oldest son, we would like to announce the creation of the Jonathan Toews Memorial Foundation. We will be sponsoring people who have had traumatic brain injuries, as well as raising awareness so what happened to our son doesn’t happen to anyone else,” Andrée continues, voice thick.

She hands the microphone back to Rocky, struggling to keep the smile on her face. “The Blackhawks Organization will be partnering heavily with the Toews Foundation. We have also decided, in dedication to Jonny, we will be donating his final year’s salary as the Foundation’s starting funds,” Rocky says, struggling to keep it together as well.

Shaking off a glove, Patrick wipes at his eyes when the crowd starts cheering again. “It’s okay Kaner, it’s going to be okay,” Jonny says, hand on his arm.

The lights dim and a video starts playing on the scoreboard. The team looks up to see clips playing of their fallen captain, highlighting his numerous achievements. Patrick can’t stop blinking back tears when Jonathan’s face shows up, laughing during warm ups. The memorial video continues as Jonny’s voice echoes through the arena.

_“I don’t know, I guess it started when I was a kid. My dad built me a backyard rink and I spent every night I could out there. I had this crazy dream to play in the NHL, but every kid has that dream when they play hockey. I ended up doing it but I never did it alone. I had my team behind me; I had my friends behind me. I had a lot of help and realized that I was the luckiest person in the world. I’m lucky because I get to live my dream with the people I love. Everybody always called me Captain Serious, but they just didn’t realize I never wanted it to end. So I had to make sure it didn’t.”_

Patrick can’t help the sob that rips out of his throat, muffled into his glove. He glances back at his teammates and almost everyone is in tears. Saader smiles weakly at him, cheeks wet. Looking back up at the screen, he sees the final picture of Jonny, one that must have been given by his family. He’s grinning on a boat, eyes scrunched up from the sun, skin tan and glowing. But all the picture does is make Pat miss him more than he has before.

The lights go up and there’s not a single dry eye in the arena. Q is red-faced and blotchy, arms crossed tightly across his chest. Seabs has his eyes closed tightly, chewing intently on his mouthpiece, Duncan’s hand on his shoulder. All of the fans behind him are in tears, even the visiting ones from St. Louis.

Sharp takes the ceremonial puck drop, picking it up off the ice and carefully placing into Bryan's hand. Patrick watches the older man look at it for a second before shaking Sharpy's hand. Sharp immediately pulls him into a quick hug, both men trying to hide their tears. It's been an emotional night for everyone and the game hasn't even started yet.

Standing on the blue line, Patrick keeps his eyes closed for the anthem, trying not to focus on Jonny standing next to Q behind the bench.

Skating out to center ice, Patrick nods carefully at Backes. The Blues captain looks down at him, muttering, "Good luck Kane. Seriously."

Glancing back at the bench to catch Jonny's small smile, Patrick says, "You won’t be wishing me good luck after we beat you guys tonight."

~

And they do. They win their first game 5-2, everybody's shoulders seeming a bit lighter now that they've gotten back into the groove of everything. The Blues push it to a game 7 though, which the Hawks win spectacularly, 6-0. T.J. stops him after the game, holding out his hand as he says, "That was some of the best hockey I've seen you play, Kane. He'd be proud of you."

Patrick shakes his hand back, agreeing, "He is. I know he is."

Oshie pushes a smile and turns away for a second. Patrick is just about to walk away as well when T.J. stops and faces him again. "This may sound crazy," he says, chewing on his lip for a second, "but I thought I kept seeing Jonny at the games. Sometimes at the benches, sometimes on the ice." T.J. laughs for a second like nothing he's saying is making sense. "But I'm probably just seeing things, right?"

Patrick stops and studied him for a second, trying to see if he's joking or not. But, in the end, Pat ends up shaking his head, saying, "No, man. I don't think you're crazy. I see him too. A lot."

T.J. nods and smiles sadly at him. "He _really_ loved you. I hope you know that."

"I do. Trust me."

~

They take the Stars in 5, the other team just being glad to have gotten so far. Patrick can’t keep the smile off his face in the handshake line when he gets to Segs. He cheekily holds his hand out, only to have Tyler bat it away. “I’m so proud of you guys,” Tyler says, grinning from ear to ear. “You may have beaten us this time, but you better watch your ass next year.”

Later that night, he goes out for drinks with Tyler and both Benn brothers. Patrick really likes it in Dallas and makes a mental note to visit more often. They get their beers and settle down in a back booth, away from all the noise.

Jordie takes a long drink before looking at his brother and teammate pointedly. "So, are you guys gonna tell him or do I have to?"

Patrick looks confusedly around the table until both Tyler and Jamie sigh. "We're together," Segs eventually spits out, face turning red. "Me and Jamie. Like, _together_ together."

The news sets in and Patrick can't help the huge grin that spreads across his face. There were a couple drunken laments back in Switzerland by Tyler about thinking he was bi, but Patrick had never really paid them much mind, because the kid never brought it up after the lockout.

"That's awesome, guys. I mean, wow! When did this happen?"

Jordie laughs and now both Jamie and Tyler are bright red. "Jordie likes to say that it was the first time we saw each other," Jamie mumbles shyly, clearly embarrassed by his brother's laughter. "But we finally told each other how we felt after we heard the news about Tazer. Kinda put things into perspective."

"We were thinking about coming out," Segs says. "After things died down a bit. You kinda paved the way for us, Kaner. We couldn’t even have thought about it before you did what you did. So thanks."

Setting down his beer, Pat reaches out and ruffles his friends hair. Maybe things weren't completely bad. Maybe some good could come out of this after all.

~

The Ducks knock the Flames out early and the Kings take the Canucks down in 5, even struggling on the defensive end. But the Kings push the Pacific final to a game 6 in their favor, finally taking the Ducks down 0-1 in OT. And, suddenly, Patrick finds him and his team in their worst nightmare.

They're going to have to beat the Kings to make it to the final.

First day in LA leaves Patrick throwing up for 2 hours. He's nervous and can’t get the thought out of his head that they might lose even a single game here.

“I'm not going to let a single one of their goals in," Crow says to him during warmups. "Not even one. None of those motherfuckers are getting by me." Patrick makes sure to throw a couple pucks in top-shelf so Crow gets some practice.

But Corey holds true to his word. They win 4 straight through, every single one of them a shutout. Crow is on his A-game, determination and anger fueling his veins. It’s an unbelievable series, one that goes down in the top playoff runs of his career. They leave LA knowing that they only have to do this one more time before it’s finally over.

~

Their first warmups in Boston make it seem like it was still last year. Patrick's just hoping it doesn't go into as much overtime this time around. Boston has good ice, loud fans, just like Chicago. It’s always nice until...

"Just because the Kings went easy on you guys, doesn't mean we're just like them," Lucic chirps from the bench as he's getting a drink. "We're not letting you guys walk away with 4 more shutouts just because you have a dead captain."

The taller man skates away as Patrick's seeing red.

He makes one stride in an attempt to skate after him before Shaw and Bollig grab his arms. "Woah, hey man," Shawzy says, spinning him around. "What'd that asshole say to you?”

Patrick spits his mouthguard into his palm and snaps, "Said they weren't going to go easy on us just because Jonny's fucking dead." He rips his arms out of his teammates grips and says, "I'm gonna fucking _kill_ him, saying shit like that."

Brandon laughs at him, shaking his head. "He's got 7 inches and 50 pounds on you. How are you going to fight him?"

"I'll figure something out," Patrick huffs, frustration burying itself in his forehead. "Besides, I can’t always have you two picking my fights for me."

He finally gets his chance their first power play. Lucic comes barreling towards him and, in one swift move, Patrick gets down as low as he can without a knee to the ice and flips the taller man, sending him flying into the air across the ice. He's upright right as Bergeron pins him against the glass.

Thankfully, Seabs comes to his rescue, blocking any more Bruins from surrounding him. Lucic comes roaring over, only to be met with a cheeky smirk. "Just because the Habs went easy on you, doesn't mean we're like them," Patrick calls out over a ref's shoulder as he's escorted to the penalty box. He can hear Shawzy whooping at him from the bench and raises a glove to him. Maybe they could do this after all.

~

Game 6 is at home and the UC is packed to the brim. Everything and everyone seems to hum with electricity. Patrick fishes his necklace out during the national anthem and kisses his ring for good luck. They needed all the help he could get tonight.

As he skates out to center ice, he can see the team raise their sticks out of the corner of his eye. It’s amazing how that had become almost second nature to everyone, raising their sticks for Jonny before each game. Patrick raises his own and takes his place next to Hossa. Sharpy beams at him from across the ice. This was it. They just had to win this game and they were golden.

Start strong, finish strong, just like Jonny would’ve wanted.

And they do start strong. 10 shots on goal and a beautiful goal from Smitty two minutes from the end of the first. It’s a gorgeous wrister from the blue line off a pass by Kruger. The bench erupts and Pat can see Ben’s smile all the way across the ice. It’s a good mood lifter that sends them buzzing into the locker room for the first intermission.

“Fuckin’ right boys, we’ve got this!” Crow shouts, shuffling through the doors, helmet off, hair wild.

“We’re not out of the park yet. It’s only the first and all of you have been shooting like peewees,” Q says, filing in behind Seabs. “We need to get those shots on goal in the net or we’re going to be looking at a fucking blowout!”

They all nod, knowing how much was at stake. It was game 6, and they didn’t want to push it to game 7.

Second period starts off like shit. Back to back goals by Bergeron and Krejci, one right after the other. Crow didn’t even have a chance to see them coming. Hjammer takes a puck to the jaw six minutes in and somehow manages to get right back up and playing.

Kruger isn’t so lucky. Patrick winces and holds his breath when he takes a big hit along the boards by Thornton. He goes down fast and stays down for a few seconds. Everybody in the stands is silent until Marcus is helped to his feet by the medics. The young man waves to the crowds and everybody breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Marcus mutters as he’s helped to the bench.

But Q’s not taking any chances with hard hits anymore. He waves Kruger down the tunnel, saying, “Go get your head checked. You’ll go to the hospital if you have any signs of a concussion. I’m not losing another one of you boys.”

Another goal by Krejci and they’re down 3-1. Patrick can feel the frustration radiating off Crow as he puts a hand on his goalie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry man, we’ll turn this back around,” Pat says, bumping their helmets together. “Just keep your head up and stop those pucks."

The second period ends and the locker room is dishearteningly quiet. They all amble in with their heads down, feeling the energy from the crowd draining them. Shawzy’s the worst of all, slamming his helmet into his locker and grabbing his water bottle. “Fuck this fucking game,” he snarls, glaring into the floor.

“Stop playing like shit and it wouldn’t suck,” Bicks says, relacing his skates. Patrick rolls his eyes as Shawzy throws a roll of tape at Bickell.

“Guys, stop it,” Sharpy says. “Yeah, we’re down 1-3 but that doesn’t mean we’re out of the game yet. We’ve come back from worse than this. We just need to remember why we’re doing this and who we’re doing this for.” Everybody hangs their heads a little, ashamed at their bickering with each other. “Do you think Jonny would’ve let us fight like this?” Sharp continues. “No, he would’ve told you all to suck it up and do what we need to do to turn it around. We have an entire period to win this. Let’s do it for Jonny.”

“For Jonny,” everyone agrees.

Sharp sits back down and Patrick elbows him a little. “Nice speech,” he jokes, smiling at his linemate.

Rolling his eyes, Sharpy mumbles, “Yeah, well someone had to stop everyone from fighting. That was only going to make it worse. You know what it was like before playoffs. We can’t go back to that, Peeks.”

Patrick smiles and says, “You and I both know that we won’t. You won’t let anybody get that bad again.” He puts a hand on his mentor’s shoulder and says, “Come on, let’s go kick some Boston ass.”

And they do. It’s a crazy start to a third period, one full of hard hits, puck on goalpost shots, and penalties. Patrick sits there, stewing in the penalty box for a stupid tripping call, anxiously awaiting his two minutes to be over so he can get out and help his team. Once he gets the okay, he’s out of the box in a flash, immediately stealing the puck from Chara and passing it back to Leddy. Leddy shoots it to Saad and Patrick cheers when Jonny’s rookie taps it in through Rask’s legs.

The next ten minutes are complete hell. Patrick is crashed against the boards by Lucic, the taller man crunching him into the glass. He feels a twinge start up in his arm but tries to hide his pain when he gets back up. Immediately after he makes it to his feet, Seabs is across the ice, laying punches into Lucic.

They fight through a 4 on 4 power play and manage to come out with a goal from Duncs. They tie the game up later with two minutes left in the third. Q is screaming from the bench and everyone goes into hyperdrive. Patrick gets four more shots on goal, but can't put one in past Tuukka. His frustration level is rising by the time he gets back to the bench.

“We just need one more goal, boys! Seal the fucking deal!” Q barks, tapping their helmets.

One more goal. One.

That’s what it comes down to. One goal, one shift, one minute left. That’s all they have before they have to fight through however much overtime. They don’t have that left in them.

Patrick’s head is ticking down the seconds. If his calculations are right, they’ve got about 20 seconds to go. He’s down past the blue line, left of the net, when he yells out, “Sharpy!” Sharp sees him and shoots a pass toward him, but it flies hard right. Patrick sees Thornton head toward it and knows he’ll never beat him to it. He mentally prepares for OT when he sees a flash of 19.

It’s almost in slow motion. Patrick’s heart thumps heavy in his chest as Jonny reels back and watches the silent whack of a nonexistent stick. The puck seems to spin and shoot in a completely opposite direction. Straight toward him. He sees Jonny’s grin glimmer across the ice, bright and beaming. Patrick barely gets the chance to whisper, “Thanks, Jonny,” before tipping it in and falling to his knees. They did it. He did it.

The building erupts. Patrick looks up in a daze as Shawzy helps him up. “I hope you saw that too,” Sharpy whispers, tossing his gloves off. Patrick nods and skates a lap, amid the screams of the fans.

Q stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what just happened out there, but you sure got a helping hand out there.” He passes over Jonny’s jersey. “Here, kid, everybody should know.”

Patrick holds up Jonny’s jersey high over his head and skates on. The roar grows louder, if possible, and is almost deafening. A huge smile splits his face as he hears Jonny shout, _“We did it!”_ next to him. The few cheers from the team die down as they bring out the Cup. Q takes it carefully out to center ice. Patrick skates over as everyone kneels around it.

Sharp nudges him, saying, “Peeks, the jersey.”

Patrick drapes Jonny’s jersey carefully over the cup and drops own to his knees as well. The crowd falls silent for a minute, remembering their fallen captain, along with their team.

Q is the first one up and the entire team lets out a proud and mournful lion’s roar. Patrick roars to the crowd, roars to the Cup, roars to the spirit of Jonny next to him, and roars to the high heavens.

As they make their way to their skates, Sharpy lifts the Cup high as the crowd explodes again. Patrick feels surreal as Sharp takes a lap with the Cup and passes it off.

He’s the last one to get it and it feels lighter than it has the times he’s lifted it before. But he knows Jonny’s got his hands on it too, helping him carry the weight. Patrick doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he gets back around and he can barely see the ice.

Patrick hands it back to Q and pulls his necklace off. He shakes the chain free and slips the ring off. He slides it on his fingers, heart pounding. Jonny had been waiting two Cup wins to do this, and this was their moment. Patrick plays out what should have happened. Jonny would have hugged him harder than ever, screaming, “We did it!” in his ear before pulling the ring out of the box. “From draft to retirement…” Jonny would have whispered.

“From first skate to last day on earth,” Patrick would’ve replied as Jonny slipped the ring on his finger. And then they would’ve kissed, in front of their team, their fans, and their world.

But he got none of that today. He got a private, one sided moment. He got a floating, _“Je t’aime Patrick,”_ and the cold metal burning on his finger.

“Kaner, come in for the picture!” Everyone’s crowded around the Cup, happy and somber smiles all around. Patrick lays Jonathan’s jersey in front of the Cup and gets in close to Saad. He smiles and sees Jonathan’s grin on the other side of the camera flashes.

Their families make it out on the ice and everyone crowds together. He’s pulled aside by a reporter before he can make it to his. “Patrick, that was quite the clutch play by you and Shaw! How does it feel to pull off a move like that?”

Patrick laughs a little, saying, “I’m not going to take any credit for what happened tonight. I didn’t come in clutch, Tazer did. I don’t care if it makes me sound crazy, but we had an angel on the ice tonight. Jonny was out there setting me up, just like old times. Jonny’s the true hero today.”

He turns away when he sees his parents come running up. They both embrace him, his mother shouting, “You did it, Patrick! I’m so proud of you!”

His dad holds him tight, saying, “Nice work, Buzz.”

Patrick’s just about to open his mouth when he sees Andrée. His parents let him go and he embraces her tightly. “I saw him, Maman,” he whispers. “He made that pass.”

Andrée kisses his cheek, tears in her eyes as she whispers, “I saw him too. He always wanted to let you have all the glory.”

Patrick spins her around, the crowd still deafening. “This is all for him, though. Everybody here knows it.” His smile shakes when Andrée’s fingers brush over the silver ring. “I had to wear it, Maman. Jonny would’ve wanted me to.”

“I know, mon fils. I just wish he was here to give it to you.”

“He is here. We all know that.”

~

Everything is a blur after that. There are more pictures, more interviews, more people, more everything. Chicago is celebrating around them but there's something so different about this win than all the others. The locker room is joyous but subdued. There are smiles but no cheers. Grins but no craziness. It's different without their captain. Without Jonny.

They all sit around the locker room late into the night with their families and sleeping children, reminiscing about the season and what next year would be like.

“It’s going to be weird,” Sharpy says, Maddie passed out in his lap. “But things change I guess, for better or for worse. Tazer would’ve just wanted us to be better.”

“And we will be,” someone says. Patrick nods, knowing that the only way they’ll get over this is by being better. Being the best. Just like Jonathan strived to do every single day here. Just like he lived his life. Kill the shortcomings by being the greatest.

Q looks at the clock and scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s almost two in the morning boys. If anyone’s going out, you should do it now. But, as for me, I’m going to head home.” He taps everyone on the shoulder, muttering the biggest understatement of the year, “Good game.”

One by one, they filter out, some of the younger guys like Saader and Shawzy going out with Leddy to celebrate at their house with their girls. Some older men packing up their kids for a long car ride home through crowded streets. Suddenly, Patrick realizes it’s just him and his family sitting in the quiet locker room, his parents and sisters smiling tiredly at him.

“So, Patrick, we should probably head back to the hotel soon,” his mom says, almost hesitantly.

He sits there, quietly thinking. Pat's got about a month before the trial out in LA starts. And he hasn’t been back in Buffalo for more than too long. Then he knows what he has to do. “Mom, I think it’s time for me to go home for a little while.”

~

The weeks before the beginning of the trial are absolute hell. Buffalo has been exactly what he needed. He plays dumb games with his sisters, plays pranks on his dad, relaxes by his pool. But there's still the looming cloud of the trial over his head. He puts on a good face but, inside, his mind is racing at a hundred miles an hour.

Pat can’t sleep, can barely eat, all of it from nervousness. He had never been a witness before; the cab incident had gotten settled out of court. All of it made his stomach sink just thinking about it. His mind replays the game over and over, replays the sights and sounds of the hit that sealed Jonny’s fate.

He gets one of Jonny’s suits tailored to his smaller frame as a security blanket about a week before he flies to LA. Patrick would need all the comfort he could get.

Patrick spends the night before his flight on his hometown rink, the one he spent countless hours on as a kid, just skating and shooting aimlessly. He’s nervous and scared for what’s going to come next, but the anxiety abides a little when he sees Jonny sitting in the stands with a soft smile on. Pat waves a little back at him before pushing his body to the limit.

His parents and sisters kiss and hug him goodbye at the airport. “You sure you don’t want anyone to come with you?” his dad asks. “I know Andrée and Bryan will be there, but-“

“No, it's okay Dad,” Pat lies. “I’ll be okay in LA. A bunch of the guys will be there. And Q and Stan. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

There’s nothing worse than goodbyes. But Patrick knows that he just has to get this over with.

When he gets to LA, it’s even worse. It’s like his entire body tightens and tenses the moment he touches down on the plane. Patrick remembers it being like this playing road games against the Kings, where he couldn’t seem to relax, no matter what he was doing. This was the city that killed Jonny. And, if it was up to it, it would try and destroy Patrick as well.

The morning of the trial, he hires a driver to take him to the courthouse. LA is always busy but this is ridiculous. This was going to change hockey forever. It was the biggest news story in sports overall right now. There had to have been at least 100 reporters outside, flocking around any car that pulled up. Patrick stares through the tinted windows, leg bouncing nervously. “Sir, do you want me to find another way in?” his driver asks. Shaking his head no, Pat takes a deep breath and opens the door.

The reporters swarm like hornets. “Patrick, what are you hoping to see as an outcome?” “Patrick, do you agree with the closed courtroom?” “Is Stan Bowman going to testify?” “Has Drew Doughty arrived yet?” On and on. He keeps his head down and pushes through the sea until he gets inside the courthouse doors and through security.

His hands are shaking and he has to lean against the wall to keep himself upright.

“Patrick?”

He jumps a little when he hears his name, but relaxes when he sees it’s Andrée. He lets out a breath he had been holding since he got out of the car and smiles graciously, saying, “Hey Maman, where’s Papa and Dave?”

Straightening her blouse, Andrée says, “They’re in the room already. I heard the commotion outside and assumed it was you. Everybody out there has been waiting for you.” She laces their arms together and says, “Allez, mon fils. Let’s go.”

The courtroom is a little large for his liking, the grey walls looming intimidatingly. Patrick lets Andrée lead him through the heavy doors and down the aisle, sitting him near the front tables. Bryan nods at him, struggling to smile, while David just throws a glance over his shoulder and sinks lower in his chair.

"Peeks, just sit down!" Pat startles a little, turning around to find Sharpy hissing at him, Q sitting next to him.

Taking the only empty seat left, he says, "How long have you been here?"

"About an hour. We wanted to avoid some of the traffic," Q says, adjusting his purple tie. "I knew the closer it was to the start of this thing, the more reporters there'd be. I'm surprised you even made it in through the doors."

Patrick shrugs a little. "I'm small, I didn't have too much trouble with-"

He's cut off with a loud roar of a crowd outside. Everyone turns to look behind them as the doors open once more. His blood runs cold and fire burns in his eyes as he sees who it is. Doughty.

Sharpy puts a hand on his shoulder, murmuring, "Easy there, Kaner. Easy."

But theres nothing Pat would love more than to claw the other mans throat out, right in the middle of the courtroom. The defenseman glances at him before turning his eyes back to the floor. Doughty takes his seat behind the defense's table.

The lack of handcuffs makes Patrick want to vomit.

The judge comes in through a back door and everyone rises. Patrick's head spins and he's never wanted something to be over as quickly as this. And it hasn't even begun yet.

~

It’s about a week before they get around to putting him on the witness stand. They've heard from the coaches, the refs, the medical team, but not Patrick.

"I'm scared, Sharpy. I'm scared they won’t believe me..." he says, sitting out behind the courtroom on the bench they were directed to. Smoothing over his hair, Sharp nods, saying, "Just keep it together as best you can and don't leave anything out, okay?"

"Patrick Kane." They both look up at the court deputy, standing in the doorway. "They're ready for you."

"Can you state your name, please?"

Patrick can already feel the sweat start curling the hair at his temples. He's used to being in the spotlight, but never like this. "Um, Patrick Kane."

"And how did you know the deceased, Jonathan Toews?"

Andree smiles at him gently from her table, nodding at him to continue. He clears his throat, saying, "Jonathan was my boyfriend and teammate. We had been dating for almost 6 years."

Andrée and Bryan's lawyer, Sam, paces around in front of him. "So you were with Jonathan the night he was injured, correct?"

Patrick nods. "Yes, I was playing in the game with him that night."

"Can you give us your insight into what happened in the events leading up to Jonathan's injury?" Sam asks.

"I was getting ready to play my next shift and was sitting on the end of the bench. My team was up 4-2 and then Jonny scored, making it a 5-2 game, with a few minutes left before the end of the game. I could see Doughty get angry about Jonathan's goal. He slammed his stick against the ice and race after Jonny. I tried to..." Patrick stops for a second, blinking back tears. "I tried to warn him. Tried to call out his name but he didn't hear me. Doughty hit him against the boards hard enough to knock him off his feet. His head hit the boards and then hit the ice."

"Did he get up after that?"

"It took him a while to wake up. But he eventually got up with my help and went back to the locker room."

Sam looks at a notepad on his table and asks, "And that's when he got checked out by the medics for concussion symptoms, correct?" When Patrick agrees with his statement, the lawyer continues. "Did anything seem unusual about the test? To the extent of your knowledge, did your medical team do everything routinely?"

Patrick nods, chewing on his lip a little. "Yeah, I’ve gotten those tests before and they did everything right. Jonathan seemed fine right then."

"Did he not seem fine later?"

He can feel Jonathan's family's eyes burning into him. This was the part none of them had really talked about. "He was quieter. Didn't move as fast as he usually did. Since that was our last game before the playoffs, we weren't scheduled to fly home until the next day. Back at the hotel, he just seemed a little slower," Patrick says, guilt eating away at him.

"But you didn't alert anyone to this odd behavior?"

"It wasn't out of the ordinary. You take a big hit like that and you're moving a little slow anyways. I didn't think much of it."

Sam looks back at Andrée and Bryan for a second before asking the one thing nobody wanted to talk about, "But you were the one that found Jonathan Toews dead, correct?"

Patrick closes his eyes, fighting the urge to run. He blinks back big fat tears and inhales shakily. "Yes, I woke up around 3 in the morning. The bed was cold and my shirt sleeve was caught on something. It ended up being Jonny's hand. I pulled it out of his fist and rolled over, telling him to move. But he didn't move. I shook him and shook him but he never woke up." He's shaking all over, hands clenched, knuckles white. "I woke up and he didn't."

"Do you remember anything after that?" Sam asks gently.

Shaking his head, he sniffs a little before saying, "No, I remember trying to wake everyone else up and the paramedics coming, but that's it. I don't remember much after that." That much was at least true. It was like his mind had blacked out to protect itself.

Sam nods and looks at the judge. "That will be all for the prosecution," he says, moving back behind the table.

Doughty's lawyer stands up, eying Patrick up and down. "Mr. Kane, I know you mentioned my client hitting Jonathan Toews, but isn't that part of the sport all of you play? Am I mistaken that body-to-body contact is a regular practice on the ice?"

Patrick grits his teeth, managing out, "Yes, it is. But going after another player just because you score isn't part of the game. Retaliative hits aren't something generally done in the NHL. We hold ourselves to a higher standard," he snips, eyes narrowing at Doughty.

There's a heavy pause in the courtroom until Doughty's lawyer says, "You said you had been romantically involved with Toews for 6 years. Would you like to explain why you didn't realize that he, someone you had been extremely close to for a number of years, had a significant brain injury?"

Patrick's heart races in his chest as he splutters, "The paramedics said the main blood vessel broke in his sleep. That the ice baths he took may have bought him more time. Nothing seemed that off."

"Are ice baths typical after a head injury?"

"They're not, but when you get hit in more that just your head, it’s pretty normal," he says, trying to stay as calm as he can. He knows Doughty's lawyer is only trying to get him riled up.

"One more question, Mr. Kane. How heavy of a sleeper are you, to wake up from the cold but not from someone trying to wake you up?” Everything in his head screams as he blinks back tears. His mouth drops open, unable to speak, unable to fight back, unable to do anything. He had done fine up until this, up until the nagging thought that he was still responsible for Jonny’s death was pushed to the forefront of his brain.

Sam stands up holding a hand out. "Objection, your honor. The defense is clearly trying to cause my witness emotional distress." Patrick is more than thankful when the judge waves the question off and releases him from the witness stand, walking back out on shaking legs.

He barely makes it out through the door before he bites his hand, screaming into the heel. He muffles the anger and pain into his skin, kicking at the wall. Patrick slides to the floor, back against the wall, as Jonny appears in front of him.

 _“You did great, Kaner. You did fantastic,”_ Jonny mumbles against his skin. _“You were so good up there.”_

“I fucked up,” he chokes out. “They fucking set me up and I fucked up!” Patrick wipes away angry tears and looks at the floor. “I can’t believe I did that. I let everyone down.”

 _“You didn’t let me down. Or Maman, or Papa, or Dave. They love you, Pat, and they know whatever happened wasn’t your fault. Don’t be so hard on yourself,”_ Jonathan says. _“Beating yourself up over something that some asshole lawyer says isn’t the thing to do.”_

Patrick gets to his feet, closing his eyes when Jonny presses a barely-there kiss on his forehead. “I just have to see him lose, Jon,” he mutters. “I just have to.”

_“You will, Peeks. You will.”_

Later that night, when he's sitting in his hotel room, all he can think about what that lawyer said. "How heavy of a sleeper are you to wake up from the cold but not from someone trying to wake you up?" Everything in the back of his mind still screamed his guilt at him. That was something that never went away. If Jonny's death had left Patrick with anything, it would be the ability to alienate. His grief had pushed people out of his heart, making room for the storm it had created.

Patrick remembers Bryan talking about it when he was in Winnipeg. Andrée couldn't stop crying and David didn't want to talk to anyone and Bryan didn't know what to say to either of them. And that was where Patrick was. What do you say to help people when you can't even help yourself?

He sits there thinking for a second before pulling out his phone. Scrolling through his contacts quickly, he pauses at one before hitting the call button. It rings for a few seconds before- "Hello?"

"Dominic? It's Patrick Kane. Sorry it took so long for me to call you back. Things have been really crazy here."

Dominic laughs a little, saying, "You have nothing to be sorry for. I know how it gets after what you all went through..." A heavy pause settles over their conversation. "But I'm glad you ended calling me. Is everything okay?"

Patrick shrugs and lays on his back. "I don't really know, honestly." He takes a deep breath and spills about everything he's been through everything from finding Jonny in the hotel room to his suicide attempt to the group therapy to the beginning of the trial. He knows that the guys would rather keep everything in their own locker room, but Pat just needs someone to vent to. Dominic listens without butting in. He stays quiet, letting Patrick spew his heartbreak, his anger, his frustration in his inability to relate. He’s provided something Patricks so desperately needed, an ear without judgement.

"Does it ever get  _easier_?" Pat finally asks, emotionally drained. "Does the pain ever go away?"

The other mans voice is gentle and understanding as he says, "I'm going to be honest with you, Patrick. The pain never goes away completely; you just learn to make room for it." Dominic sighs a little. "I consider myself lucky, in a way. I knew Katie was sick. I knew when she wasn't going to get better. I knew I didn't have a lot of time with her and had time to prepare myself for that. You didn't."

"I just got blindsided."

"Exactly. You got no warning, nothing to help ease the pain. I had to take time off because I didn’t know if I was going to be able to come back by myself, if I could come back without her," Dominic says. "The fact that you’re even playing in the playoffs is astounding to me. You should give yourself more credit.”

Patrick blinks back tears as the sun finally sets over the lake. "I have to. Something or someone took care of me in that car, made sure I stayed alive. I knew I had to do this, for Jonny."

"I know the feeling. I knew I had to come back after my year off. It’s what Katie would have wanted. And I didn't know Jonathan all that well, but I know he wouldn't have wanted you to give up, so I'm glad you're pushing through."

They talk for another hour after that, the older man giving Patrick some much needed advice on losing a significant other. They talk about things no one else understands, like coming home to an empty house and a cold bed at night. It’s the little things that hurt and no one knows them better than the two of them right now.

"Thanks for all the help, Dom," Pat says as the phone call winds down. “It’s nice to have someone tell me something other than to just ‘move on.’ Sometimes I think everyone just doesn’t want to deal with it. And I’m just a constant reminder of Jon.” There’s a lump in his throat as he mutters, “It’s like everyone sees me and sees the person that let him die.”

"I promise that's not what they think,” Moore says gently. “It's hard losing a friend and people deal with it differently. Just make sure you don’t shut yourself off again. That’s the only way things can get better.”

“I know. I won’t go back to that. I can’t.”

 

~

It’s 5:23 am when he hears his phone blaring on the nightstand next to him. Jerking up, Patrick rubs his eyes tiredly before seeing who it is. Bollig. Patrick pulls his phone out of the charger and answers it with a sleepy, “Bolly, what-“

“You’re a fucking asshole!”  _That_ definitely wasn’t the thing he was expecting to be shouted at him first thing in the morning. “I can’t even fucking believe you. I know I fucking kissed you but I apologized, you dick! You didn’t have to fucking do this!” Bollig’s voice is angry and hurt, but mostly pissed off beyond all reason.

“Bolly, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patrick slurs, sleep still evident in his voice. “

I got traded.”

“Wait, what?”

“I got fucking traded, Kaner! I got the damn call this morning. Some fucking bullshit about things not working out. You didn’t have to fucking do that,” Brandon spits furiously. Patrick’s still trying to wrap his head around the situation and figure out what Bollig’s trying to say, but apparently it’s not quick enough, because Bollig’s anger rises. “And don’t tell me you don’t fucking know! Management will do anything for you. You’re their golden boy, especially with Tazer gone. You wanted me gone and now you fucking got it.”

As much as this could’ve been his fault, it wasn’t. Patrick sits up, shirt tangled around his chest, and says, “Bolly, I swear to god, I had nothing to do with this. I didn’t even know you got traded until just now. I didn’t even tell anyone you kissed me. Only Sharpy knows.”

Silence, then, “Fuck.”

“Didn’t you just get re-signed?” None of this is making sense. Patrick can hear Bollig sigh angrily. He tries to keep his voice as calm as possible as he says, “And your new condo…”

“Yeah, well I won’t need that now, will I?” He can hear the absolute spite in his friend’s voice. They had had their problems but, at the end of the day, they were still friends. And, while Patrick had nothing to do with him getting traded, he still feels partially responsible. He had seen the change in Brandon during the playoffs, especially after the night in his condo. And he knows Q noticed that as well, even if nothing was said.

There’s an awkward silence until Patrick mutters, “I’m sorry, I really am… But I didn’t do this. This wasn’t my fault, Bolly. You can’t put this on me.”

Brandon makes a soft, frustratedly exasperated noise and then sighs. “I don’t want to leave Chicago,” he mutters, all anger gone. “I like it here. I like playing here and playing with you guys. I don’t want to move to fucking Calgary.” Patrick winces at his friend’s new team. The Flames were a running joke in the league at this point. Bollig was going from one of the best to the worst. That had to have been a low blow.

Patrick tries to make a joke, saying, “Well, on the upside, at least you didn’t get traded to LA.”

“Don’t even fucking joke about that, Kaner,” Bolly says. “I’d probably kill someone on the team before I even played a game there.”

“I’m sorry, Bolly. I didn’t mean it like that.”

There’s a heavy silence between the two of them before Brandon finally says, “Yeah, I know. I just wish things had gone differently for me. For you, for everyone I guess. Everything has just been so shitty that I didn’t think it could get any worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

~

_"Jonny, watch out!"_

_Patrick freezes as the words come out of his mouth. His heart pounds in his throat as he watches it all over again, the crunch of Jonathan's skull to the boards, the slide of the ice as he falls to the ground. He clambers over the bench, skates slipping as he makes his way to the corner._

_The arena is deathly quiet, everybody frozen in position. Doughty stands still at the net, stick clenched tight in hand, held back by the immobile ref._

_By the time Pat turns to Jonny, he's gone, crumpled jersey in his place. Looking around wildly, he grabs the sweater, running his thumb over the bloody neckline. "Jonny!" he screams, hands trembling. "Jonny!"_

_He spies a fallen shinguard on the ice, leading off into the locker room. Patrick skates off after the trail of equipment, picking piece after piece of Jonny's gear. His brain is screaming at him but he can't help but notice the smear of bloody handprints on the walls of the tunnel._

_Patrick's heart stops completely when he gets into the room. There's Jonathan, sitting in his stall, eyes staring off into nowhere. His skin is deathly pale, stained by the gush of blood out of a broken scalp. Patrick's eyes go wide as he rushes over, grabbing towels, shirts, anything to staunch the bleeding. "Tazer, fuck, come on, what happened?!"_

_Jonny turns his blank eyes on him, hints of confusion lacing his face. "I told you, I'm fine."_

_"You're not fine, you-" Patrick starts, pulling back the towels to check his wound. But theres nothing there. Jonathan's head was fine. No cut, no bruise, no nothing. "Your head... it was..." he stutters, unable to comprehend._

_Jonny smiles at him, eyes lighting up for a second._

_"You should've believed me."_

_Then the smile goes and all the color drains out of his face. Patrick starts screaming as Jonny tips forward, eyes going bloodshot and rolling into his head. With hands on either side of his face, Patrick struggles to keep him upright, as blood begins to seep out his nostril. "Stay with me, please!" he sobs as Jonathan's lips turn blue. "I can't lose you again!"_

_Patrick shakes him over and over, screaming as Jonny's head jerks back and forth like a rag doll. "Wake up!" he cries over and over, unable to stir his boyfriend._

_Then, a massive rush of air surges into Jonathan's lungs, inflating them as he sits back up. Pat lets go with wary hands, heart fluttering as Jonny's eyelids snap open._

_Only soulless black pits are left, seeming to disappear into nothing._

_Patrick can't help the scream that pours out of his mouth._

And that's how he finds himself, screaming and thrashing in the covers as he jolts awake. The bed is covered in sweat; his hair matted to his face by panic. Patrick chokes out a sob as he clambers out of the hotel bed and onto the floor.

_"Patrick?"_

He raises his shaking head to see Jonny kneeling carefully in front of him. _"I tried to wake you up,"_ he says quietly. _"Something wasn't right. You looked scared,"_ he mumbles, voice scratchy.

"I had to watch you die all over again!" Patrick screams, tears leaking down his face. "In my arms! And I couldn't do a single thing to save you!" His voice is beyond broken but thats how he feels. “It's not fair. You're supposed to be here, with me! Not fucking dead, Jonny!"

He buries his face in his knees as Jonathan's eyes drop to the floor. _"I'm sorry. I really am."_

"You should be, leaving me here all alone. You promised," Patrick spits into his leg. "You fucking promised we wouldn't leave each other."

He raises his head when he feels Jonny's hand on his cheek. _"Why do you think I'm still here? Why do you think I can’t leave?"_ The taller man moves to sit on the edge of the bed, mattress undisturbed. _"I wouldn't leave you, ever, Kaner. I couldn't."_

Patrick crawls up to sit next to him, bed creaking under his weight. "Do you stay because you want to, or do you stay because you have to?” It's a question that has been plaguing him from the beginning. Did Jonathan really want to stay around as a ghost, or whatever he was, or was he being bound here by unknown forces?

Jonny looks at him, eyebrow raised. _"What do you think?"_ When Patrick doesn't give him an answer, only shrugging his shoulders, he sighs. _"Of course I want to be here. I made a promise, remember?"_

Patrick laughs painfully, blinking back tears. He turns and studies every part of Jonathan's semi-translucent face, every scar still in the same spot, every worry-line still there. His voice is quiet as he murmurs sadly, "I miss you. I miss you so much."

 _"I miss you too. More than you know,"_ Jonny replies, voice staticky. _"Now lay back down. I'll make sure nothing bad happens again."_

As he curls up under the covers again, Jonathan's wispy form behind him, Patrick wishes now, more than ever, that he could just wake up from this nightmare.

~

The trial drags on for weeks and weeks before the jury finally gets out decide Doughty's fate. Patrick waits by the back of the room for Andrée and Bryan to exit. "Are you guys going back to Winnipeg? Until the verdict is reached?"

Bryan nods, saying, "David wants to try and patch things up at home. Says he hasn't exactly been helpful over the past few months. What about you, son?"

"I don't know, Papa. I know Sharpy said he was going to hang around, so I might just stick around here," he mutters nervously. "I don't really like being here but I’m really tired of flying so much when I don't have to."

Andrée kisses his cheek and hugs him, murmuring, "You be careful then, mon cher. And give us a call if you need anything, as always."

"I will, I promise."

He hugs each of them and tries to cause as much of a diversion as he can by exiting the courthouse and taking questions from reporters. It’s a good hour before he manages to escape the swarm and get into the safety of his hotel room. Patrick lays on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to collect himself before he figures what to do next.

He pulls out his phone and quickly types out a message to Sharpy. _Too stuffy in hotel. Meet at beach in 20?_

It’s about ten minutes before he gets a reply from his teammate. _Sure. Text me which one when you decide._

And that’s how Patrick finds himself, stretched out on the sand with Sharp next to him, half an hour later. "Some trial," the older man says, pulling out a pair of sunglasses. "I know I for one will be glad when all of this is over and that asshole is in jail."

Patrick nods and grabs a bottle of water next to him. "Me too. I’m just ready to get back to normal. Whatever that means.”

They lay back on the sand, letting the sun melt them into the ground for hours. They lay like that until they hear a soft whistling from Sharpy’s phone. Sharp gets up on one elbow and pulls out his phone, answering with, “Hey Abbs, what’s up?”

Patrick blinks back the sun and watches his friend’s face. It goes from intent listening to bewildered shock. “Really?! Sharp exclaims, sitting upright immediately. “When did you find out? Are you sure?!” The older man’s chest is heaving excitedly as a huge grin splits his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll call my parents later tonight. Holy shit, Abby! I can’t wait to come home… Yeah, it’ll be soon I hope! Okay, love you too! So much Abbs!” He hangs up the phone and sits there, staring out the ocean in wonder.

Pat sits up and looks at him confusedly, “Dude, what was that about?”

Sharpy lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks at Patrick and says, almost disbelievingly, “Abby’s pregnant again!”

Patrick’s face splits into a huge grin as he lets out a laugh and claps Sharpy on the back. “That’s awesome! Congrats, Sharpy! When did she find out?!”

“She found out this morning! Said she couldn’t wait until I got back home so she had to call me today,” he says, wiping excited tears out of his eyes. Patrick laughs along with him, both of them unable to do anything else. “I hope it’s a boy,” Sharpy finally says, grin still plastered firmly on his face. “I really need a boy in the house.”

Shoving him a little bit, Patrick laughs and says, “Knowing your luck, it’ll be another girl.”

~

15 days. It takes 15 long, excruciating days for the jury to reach a verdict.

Patrick gets the call from Andrée and Bryan, saying that they’re flying in for the final court date on Monday. When he gets there, the courtroom is unnervingly quiet. Andrée and Bryan are talking in hushed voices with Sam, unbeknownst to his arrival. Patrick takes a seat next to Sharpy, right behind the couple.

"He should be sweating in his stupid shoes," Sharpy whispers in his ear, glaring across the room at Doughty. "But he doesn't even look worried." When he looks over, Patrick realizes Sharpy's right. Theres Doughty, calm as ever, ever so slightly reclined in his chair. There isn't a single line of worry etched into his face, only a few greying hairs to show any turmoil that may have happened over the past 5 months.

"If I don't see him leave in handcuffs by the end of this, I don't know what I'm going to do," Pat mutters back through gritted teeth.

"Well, it looks like you'll find out soon."

The back door opens and the judge gets into his seat. Adjusting his eyeglasses, the elderly man says, "Everyone please be seated. We'll get starting on wrapping things up."

Patrick drowns out the legal proceedings until Sharp nudges him in the ribs. "Has the jury reached a verdict?" The judge asks, motioning to the head juror.

The woman nods and hands over an envelope. The judge opens it and scans the paper. He clears his throat as blood rushes through Patrick's head, pounding in his ears. It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. "On a single charge of murder in the second degree, the jury finds defendant Drew Doughty..." Patrick holds his breath, heart threatening to burst through his throat. "Guilty."

His lungs explode. He lets out a breath he feels like he's been holding since Jonny was carried out in his casket. Guilty. That was the only thing he needed to hear.

Andrée bursts into tears of relief, kissing her husband. David lets out a sigh of relief and looks toward the heavens, making sure his brother knew all was finally well. Patrick feels a little guilty, forgetting how close David and Jonathan were. Jonny was always there for him, providing his younger brother with a role model for everything. And, now that he was gone, the younger of the two was lost.

"We will reconvene in a week for sentencing," the judge says, collecting his paperwork. "Thank you."

Patrick watches Doughty stand up, face in utter shock. The defenseman holds out shaking hands as the cold metal of the handcuffs finally clicks into place. He bites his lip and looks at Jonny’s family. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I didn’t mean-“ But he loses his words halfway through, knowing that nothing he could say could change it now. Patrick grits his teeth and stares Doughty down as he’s lead out the back and off to get what he deserved.

 _“He’s really going to jail for this…”_ he hears whispered in his ear. _“I never thought this would happen to any of us…”_ His teeth are clenched so hard that he’s about to crack one or two, but Pat can feel a gentle hand brush the corner of his jaw, relaxing his body. _“It’s okay, Peeks. It’s over now. You don’t have to be so angry anymore,”_ Jonny says, barely there.

He turns, eyes softening when he see’s Jonathan’s blurry smile, his wispy cheekbones dipping in gently. Jonny was right, it was over now.

~

The next week is a madhouse. He says goodbye to Andrée, Bryan, and David, promising to visit when they play Winnipeg in the fall. He says goodbye to Sharpy, making sure to tell him to give Abby a huge hug for him when they get back home. And, then, he says goodbye to LA.

The flight back home is bumpy, but it’s a relatively empty plane. Patrick falls asleep, tucked into the window seat, Jonny’s hand wrapped around his the entire time.

Things were going to be okay now.

The moment he gets home, he drives as fast as he can over to the Bickells’. Bicks is there, waiting on the front porch, Juliette eagerly wiggling next to him. The second Pat opens the door, she bolts down the sidewalk and into his arms. “She missed you, can’t you tell?” Bicks says, laughing as he hands Patrick the rest of her things.

“Trust me, she can’t have missed me more than I missed her,” Pat laughs, loading up the car. “Thanks for taking such good care of her. You can come visit her any time you want.”

“She can keep an eye on you with Makayla once we make it over there with her. You’ll like her, she’s cute,” Bicks says, a proud smile of fatherhood lighting up his face.

“If she’s anything like Amanda, I’m sure I will. You… I’m not so sure,” he says with a smirk. But that cheeky grin softens as Patrick says, “But seriously, thank you for everything you’ve done. For Juliette and me.”

Bicks gives him a gentle shove and says, “You’d do the same for me. It’s what teammates do. It’s what friends do.”

Patrick waves goodbye as they drive off, Juliette barking out the window. “Come on, girl, let’s go home.”

When they get home and up into his condo, Patrick has 5 unread texts from Sharpy, each one of them more frantic than the previous.

_Check the TV News is on._

_Important_

_Seriously, you have to watch right now_

_It’s about Doughty_

_Turn the damn TV on, Peeks._

Patrick quickly grabs the remote as Juliette jumps up on the couch. It doesn’t even matter which station he turns on, each one is playing the same story on repeat.

“In the latest update of the ongoing Jonathan Toews story, his accused killer, Drew Doughty, has just been sentenced to 25 years in prison, without option of parole. Judge Paquette said, before sentencing the 24 year old, that a dangerous sport does not have to be a reckless one. Toews’ family’s attorney said that the harsh sentence was meant to be an example. He also said that justice has finally been served.”

25 years. Patrick sits down on the couch next to Juliette, stunned. Everything he had hoped for actually happened. But 25 years of rotting in a jail cell still wouldn’t make up for the 60 years he and Jonny should’ve gotten together.

He sits there, watching the news footage roll on and on, until he feels Jonathan’s hand on his. _“Is this what you wanted? Are you finally going to be happy?”_ Jonny asks quietly.

“I only want you back. But this is a good start.” He sits there, thinking through everything that’s happened since April, all the highs, the lows, and everything in between. Looking at Jonathan’s transparent figure, Patrick asks, “Do you want to go take a drive?”

He’s been here so many times that he could probably drive here in his sleep. The curvy pavement through the green grass like a snake but Patrick knows exactly where it’s going. He pulls off to the side by the forever familiar oak tree. Juliette barks at Jonny but stays close by Pat’s side as they walk across the grass to Jonathan’s grave.

It’s late afternoon and the air is hot, muggy against his face. Juliette circles him a few times before laying down. Patrick sits next to her, waiting for Jonny to join him.

They sit there for longer than he can count, insects buzzing around them. “Jonny, I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go from here,” he mutters, putting his head in his hands. Juliette lays low in the grass beside him, nose snuffling near his shoe. Patrick feels a warm hand on the back of his neck and looks at Jonny, sitting next to him in front of the headstone. “What do I do now?”

Jonny smiles at him, ruffling Pat’s hair like he had done so many times before. _“It’s simple. You keep going.”_

~

And Patrick does. He goes on to raise number 19’s banner in Jonny’s number retirement ceremony before training camp opens. There isn’t a single dry eye in the room. Patrick stands on the ice with Jonny’s family, hand on Bryan’s shoulder in support.

Training camp rolls around and Seabs comes in with the newest addition of his family, after much hush hush from him and his wife. Patrick can’t help but smile when he meets Jonathan Cameron Seabrook.

A month later, Sharpy is given the C. There’s protests from his linemate, but it’s the clear choice. Patrick knows that, if there was one person who was the rock during the end of the previous season, it was Sharpy. He’s given Sharpy’s A and he wears it proudly. But he doesn’t pretend that seeing number 10 instead of 19 with the C on the jersey doesn’t bother him just a little.

He goes on to help the Hawks dominate the 2014-2015 season. He goes on to have the best season of his career, centering the top line like he did the year before. Sharpy and Abby welcome their baby girl Alayna in the spring and he graciously accepts the roll of godfather. They go on to blow through the playoffs at record pace. And, at the end of the season, he goes on to help win the Cup for the 3rd year in a row. They’ve made history.

He goes on to celebrate the growing team family. Shawzy and Chaunette have a giant wedding party, in lieu of their elopement. Nik and Elina have twins. Hossa and Jana add a little boy, Benjamin, to their family. Patrick loves seeing all the kids at the get togethers and holiday skates, even if he still goes there alone. He and Crow give each other jabs as the two bachelors on the team. Corey by choice, Patrick by force.

He goes on to weather a huge blow again with his team when Sharpy unexpectedly retires at 39. He mourns by his friend’s side when it comes out to the team that Abby had a miscarriage 5 months in. It would have been their first boy. All Sharpy says publicly is that he’d rather be at home with his family than out on the ice. That there are more important things than hockey.

Saader gets Sharpy’s C and Patrick doesn’t think there’s anyone more deserving.

Three months later, he has to put Juliette down. He pets her greying nose in the vet’s office as she closes her eyes one last time, head heavy in his lap. Patrick cries like a baby for the next two days. She was the last tie he had to Jonny and it just breaks his heart to have to scatter her ashes next to Jonny’s grave. Jonny holds his hand the whole time he’s there.

He goes on to say goodbye to Coach Q when he finally retires after 17 successful seasons in Chicago. He cheers on his longtime friend and mentor as he’s recognized in the Hall of Fame. There are smiles all around during the ceremony as the old crew gets back together. Patrick hasn’t seen Bicks as much as he’d like since his trade to Vancouver, so it’s nice to see him again along with Seabs and Duncan. They get to honor the man who helped turn a failing team that had a lot of potential into a family.

Patrick goes on to play out his career in Chicago, retiring at 42. It’s been a long time coming and there have already been small talks about coaching options. He’s seen friends and teammates come and go. He’s seen coaches come and go. But this was the city that had his back at his lowest, who cheered with him at his highest. This was the city that healed him. Standing on the ice with his parents and sisters, he waves to the fans as they cheer, his number rising to the ceiling next to Jonny’s. He can see Jonny’s face grinning next to him through the camera flashes. There they were. 1988. Together again at last.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through my massive epic! I don't really think Doughty would kill anyone (however much I dislike him,) or that Lucic would say anything like that (although he is kind of an asshole.) Also, thanks more than I can say to R&H for being my sadness guinea pigs and letting me ruin their lives with this fic.


End file.
